


The Hot Homosexual Tension

by ChutJeDors



Series: The Hot Series [5]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: ALSO there is GAY PORN, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, GEORGE IS A BITCH, Kissing, M/M, Modern AU, NO HETERO SEX, Paul is like 1000 feet down in denial about being gay, Sex, Swearing, abandoning mothers, also ringo/paul, and sex, do you have your seatbelts on, even after all this time, george/everyone, hopefully everyone can handle the gayness™, i guess, i have a deep feeling no one is ready for this ride, i have so much sympathy for stuart, i know paul CANT, i swear julia grates every nerve i got, there is so much sex, welcome to the wild ride of Paul Reading Fanfiction, you didn't wait for that coming huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 95,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8911120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: Paul and John are gay. But STILL not gay enough to have sex they both want to have. George is getting out of hand. Ringo gets off on that hand. Life includes problems like an estranged mother (whom everyone hates), fanfiction (that Paul hates) and the Sea of Clothes (that everyone fears). And is the lube George buys for Christmas really for himself? Whatever is going on, Stuart doesn't want to know.





	1. George Is Surprisingly Human

**Author's Note:**

> The third (well, basically fourth) part of the Hot Series is here!!! Containing tears, blood, gallons of tea and countless sleepless nights, because why sleep when I can torture myself with a fic?
> 
> **You probably wanna read the earlier parts before looking at this. Just, 'cos, y'kno. It might be better that way.**  
> 
> While in the HS we were in September, this whole fic takes place in December during the same year. So you can count how many months have passed (I won't because I can't do maths). Also between these is the Dripping Dick™ accident. The year is 2014, in case someone is wondering, which means Temple Run 2 is still pop. (I CAN'T BE THE ONLY ONE WHO'S STILL PLAYING IT?? PLEASE??? I _CAN'T_?!?+)
> 
> The WHOLE shit is beta-ed by [BECCA](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/), who is partly at fault why it took so long to write it, and also why it is here now and not in next year's July. Basically we have written 300 000 words of RP and all that time could have been used on this. But she has also kicked my arse to write this, so here it is. You have to thank her for _everything_. (Jokes aside, really, she's like never sleeping and always online, ready to answer my screams for help. dude i owe u my life)
> 
> A BIG thanks also to Kaisa. I feel humbled to be able to have your noble, wise opinions about this rubbish. I didn't think anyone could actually like George, but you proved me wrong. Wow.
> 
> Without further ado, go on and enjoy. And watch out for the Sea.

* * *

> From: Julia Lennon <[julia_stanley@gmail.com](https://gtfo)>  
>  To: John Lennon <[john.w.lennon@hotmail.com](https://hotmechanic)>  
>  Subject: Hi darling
> 
>  
> 
> Hello my dear John! How have you been? It's been so long since I last heard from you. Couldn't you spare a little thought to your mother as well, or has Mimi taken up ALL your affections? I just got a part in a small-budget film and my role is a young mother who has lost her husband and has to take care of her child alone. Just a fitting role for me!
> 
> Wish you all the best,
> 
> Mum
> 
>  
> 
> PS. I am coming to London in a few weeks. I would LOVE to meet up with my darling darling Johnny! E-mail me! xxx

* * *

 

***~**~***

Paul looked at the email with sad eyes, every now and then glancing at John, who was sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He had given the computer to Paul with a desperate, painful moan and had then fallen into this position, having not moved for the whole time Paul was reading.

Paul knew how it hurt John, to have a mother like Julia. The man didn't talk about it much, nor would have he admitted it, but he had always felt betrayed and abandoned by Julia's actions. There was nothing he could do, though. Even when he had (and Paul had heard this from George, because John never _ever_ really talked about his mother) prayed for his mother to come home when he was thirteen she hadn't batted an eyelid. She had only sent an email to Mimi which said "Mum is busy with work, Johnny darling. xxx" and that was all. It seemed that Julia had totally forgotten that she actually had a son, even though she always sent a short email to him on his birthday. (Or a few weeks late. Or months.)

The email made Paul extremely angry, even though he didn't understand why. Maybe it was the light feeling in the text. Or maybe it was the emotionlessness that poured over the computer screen. Those kisses on the bottom didn't mean a thing, and both Paul and John knew it. Only that every one of them seemed to have struck John's heart like an arrow.

"She can't be possibly coming," John mumbled, his head still down and his voice a bit muffled. Paul sighed and put the laptop down, crawled closer to John and wrapped his arms around the older man. "Not after all these years."

Paul pressed his face against John's hair and breathed in deeply, trying to memorise the sweet scent of his boyfriend. He agreed. How did Julia dare to come back after all these years of neglecting her son??? But he couldn't really say that to John.

"I guess..." he started and searched for the right words, "maybe she's come to her senses and wants to apologise? Maybe she's... maybe she's finally 'grown up', or something."

"You know that it isn't so," John muttered and leaned towards Paul's embrace, still not lifting his face. "If she had the email would sound different. But it's the _same_ . They're _always_ the same," he choked and Paul tightened his hold on him. It wasn't fair. John had grown up to be a good man even without parents, but Paul knew that nothing would replace the love needed from them. Mimi didn't really count, because she clearly hated John’s guts. Occasionally she might have felt some sort of affection, too. But that was way too rare in these days, after the... revelation. She still hadn't called and blocked out all of John's calls.

"I don't know what to do, Paul," John whispered, finally lifting his head. His eyes were clear but Paul could see the pain in them, could see the sorrow and the _longing_ for the mother he never had. "I just don't."

"You don't have to do anything," Paul answered, sighing and starting to pet John's hair. "You don't have to answer immediately. You can wait and think about this and then, when you feel ready, you can either say yes or no. It's your choice. You don't have to meet her if you don't want to."

"That's the problem," John bit his lip. "I want to see her, but I never, _ever_ want to see her. It doesn't make any sense but..."

"I get it," Paul hummed and pulled John to his lap, cradled him like he was a small child. "I get it."

John buried his head in Paul's shoulder and didn't say anything for a long time.

***~**~***

George rushed to hug John the moment he heard of the email. Paul and Ringo were unceremoniously thrown out of the living room and the door was slammed on their faces before George's soft voice could be heard saying something. Ringo and Paul looked at each other with raised eyebrows and then Ringo pulled out his phone, starting to play the game Angry Birds (which -in Paul's opinion- was shit (but he had still played all the levels)).

Paul huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't know why he had to leave as well, seeing as he was John's _boyfriend_ , but he could use the time for his advantage and go write his blog. He surely had a lot to say about parents who left their children.

He got into his bedroom and closed the door, eyeing at the chaotic mess of clothes on the floor cautiously. He couldn't be sure but he suspected something had started to live beneath the Sea of Clothes. There had to be a reason why John's cat Creature avoided jumping on it.

He lifted one pair of briefs from the pile and held it between two fingers, a disgusted look on his face. If his parents were ever going to visit them in London this place had to be cleaned and Paul wasn't sure if he or John would be man enough to do it. They could maybe hire Stuart as a cleaning lady, who seemed to do pretty much anything for John in these days.

His thoughts drifted back to the time he had been jealous of Stuart. Their visit in Liverpool had been catastrophic and Paul wondered now what had taken over him then. Of _course_ he had known that Stuart was only a friend and that of course Paul and John's love was true, but he had still made a total arse out of himself. He had later realised it and had apologised to John too, a few weeks later. John had just laughed, waved his hand and said "cool".

He had also said that Stuart had a girlfriend, which had suddenly made Paul like the lad a _lot_ more. Now Paul got on well with the delicate artistic man, as well as he could anyway; there was no way Paul would have put paprika on his eggs. That habit of Stuart (and John) was just disgusting.

He threw himself on the bed that was currently the only clothes-less place in the whole room and crossed his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. There was so much to think about: about the whole mess in Liverpool, about Julia, and, moreover, Paul's huge overpowering desire to have sex with John.

Like, not only jerking off with each other or rubbing against each other and stuff, but actual, _real_ anal sex. The thought made Paul get cold shivers all over his body and he closed his eyes firmly, trying to avoid the trail of thoughts that always took him back on that balcony, where George had destroyed the remaining pieces of Paul's naive virginity to such things. Well, Paul had got everything he had asked for.

***~**~***

_"I... I've been thinking... a lot, and I-" he took a deep breath, "There's two things I need you to tell me," he turned and held his hand up, meeting George's eyes. They were burning black and George had a smile on his face that wouldn't do any good on the world._

_"One," Paul said and lifted one finger up, his voice quivering, "how does anal sex between two males happen and two," he lifted a second one, "is anal sex with John worth trying?"_

_George's lips widened to a grin that could end the universe all by itself._

” _Please don’t tell him!!!” Paul’s breath hitched as panic started wrapping itself around him. He had had a plan of getting this far, but from this moment on he had no idea what could happen. George could sometimes be very unpredictable. (Although, sometimes he could be_ _ **very**_ _predictable as well.)_

” _Tell ’im? Oh. Oh_ _ **no**_ _,” George started slowly, shaking his head with that world-ending glint in his eyes. ”I’m not gonna tell ’im._ _ **No**_ _. I’m gonna_ _ **help**_ _ye now that I know what this is all_ _’bout_ _.”_

” _That’s what I_ _’m afraid of_ _,” Paul mumbled and George chuckled darkly. It was a dark chuckle. The darkest of them_ _ **all**_ _. Paul felt shivers in his back. He had never wanted to hear a chuckle like_ _ **that**_ _._

” _Ye wanna know ’bout anal sex, huh?” George was muttering to himself and Paul started slowly backing towards the balcony door in case he had to make a wild dash away from the_ _ **monster**_ _._

” _The first thing to remember is-” and oh, Paul was preparing himself for anything,_ _ **anything**_ _bad and dirty that George’s mind could conjure- ”the condom.”_

” _Wait. What?” Paul’s eyes widened and then he squinted. ”Really?”_

” _What were ye waitin’ for? The dick straight into the hole?” George looked at him with a frown and an expression that said ’obvious’. It wasn’t obvious to Paul._

” _Well, I don’t know? I’ve never really… paid attention to how it… happens.”_

” _Condoms don’t jus’ stop the girls gettin’ pregnant,” George rolled his eyes and sat down on the cold balcony floor. He patted the space next to him as an invite but Paul shook his head. He didn’t want to get too close._

” _Yeah, I know_ _ **that**_ _much,” he snorted. ”I’m not an_ _ **idiot**_ _.”_

_George’s face might have said otherwise, but Paul ignored him._

” _So,” George grinned, ”the condom prevents ye from havin’ any diseases. Of_ _ **course**_ _ye can have yerself tested an’ the partner as well, so ye don’t have to worry. And for longer relationships I recommend it, too.”_

” _Are you? Tested?” Paul felt his heart spark with a tiny weeny bit of interest of the subject, something he’d thought impossible. He had prepared himself to be disgusted, panicked and hysteric. But instead he found himself interested. Huh. World was a strange place. Also George wasn’t being as awful as one would think he could be. Paul had been prepared for_ _ **much worse**_ _._

” _Yeah, sure,” George raised his eyebrows, ”regularly. And since I’ve only been with Ringo for a few months now we both know that we’re safe.”_

” _So you have sex without a condom?”_

” _Aye,” George nodded, ”we do. And it’s_ _ **grand**_ _.”_

” _Okay,” Paul swallowed and tried not to think about the situation where George and Ringo didn’t use a condom. He tried to think about John instead._

— _**John takes his nipple into his mouth and sucks, and Paul arches into his touch with a scream that he is unable to stop. John’s hands rest on his pelvis, he moans and his mouth is moving lower, lower—**_

” _THE CONDOM. OKAY,” Paul gasped and brought a hand to his heart, blinking several times and trying to collect himself. Had to stop_ _ **thinking**_ _about this!!!_

” _What. Else,” he said with a tight voice and George looked at him suspiciously with a threatening smile on his lips._

” _Oh, well then it’s just preparin’ the hole.”_

” _Pr— the h-hole?” Paul gaped and George laughed manically._

” _Yes, that can easily be the best part. Sure ye’ve watched gay porn?” he waved his hand around like it wasn’t important whether Paul had actually done so or not. ”Porn isn’t the best way to learn how to have sex but one can always pick up hints.”_

” _George,” Paul sighed, ”I’m not actually a holy virgin, even if you, Ringo_ _ **and**_ _John think so collectively. I_ _ **know**_ _stuff.”_

” _Yeah, especially after spendin’ a year as John’s boyfriend. That man’s a walkin’ sex dictionary,” George smiled openly and Paul had to think_ _ **who**_ _had said_ _ **what**_ _._

” _Preparing the hole?” he decided to ask before his brain got too confused about George’s way of living and exploded before he got to know how to get what he wanted._

” _Take fingers, lube ’em up and stick ’em in yer arse,” George stated matter-of-factly with a straight face as if he was discussing weather with his mother. ”The thing is, ye see, that there’s this tiny thing called a ’prostate’…”_

***~**~***

Paul could now proudly call himself an expert when it came down to gay anal sex. He knew everything, from preparing himself to the final points before climaxing. After George’s thorough explanation he had felt the need to google it some more and had found a few good tips for it. George had given him a plug to stuff in his arse so that he could _practise_ . Apparently the first time would be _much_ more bearable when you had already prepared the _hole_ for the feeling.

So far he’d only got it in once, and then he had freaked out and had a huge panic attack. George had found him and after laughing himself silly he had sat down with Paul in the middle of the loo floor and talked about astronomy for an hour. It had a huge calming effect, but Paul hadn’t dared to try the plug ever since. He’d have to get on with it, though. Soon.

***~**~***

” _What about…” Paul looked a bit hesitant, having sat next to George and looking at him with huge eyes, ”…sex with John, then?”_

” _Oh,” George grinned slowly and tilted his head, ”_ _ **that**_ _is like havin’ sex with the Holy God himself. Seriously. Even if we were young an’ he was my first it was_ _ **fab**_ _.”_

” _Really?” Paul tried to appear nonchalant but his insides were churning. He was jealous. He was_ _ **so**_ _jealous. Maybe, if John had had his first experience of anal with Paul, he wouldn’t be so reluctant now to do it._

” _Yeah,” George said lightly and closed his eyes, as if relishing the memory (Paul knew he was). ”He was_ _gentle_ _. But boy, he could make ye_ _ **scream**_ _. Even if I didn’t that time, not really, an’ it wasn’t that good for ’im either, I know that he’s a_ _ **lot**_ _better than then.”_

“ _What did you do wrong?”_

“ _Oh,” George shrugged, “just the usual. Not enough time spent to prepare me, not enough knowledge, not enough_ _ **lube**_ _, which is like, the main point in the whole thing, and we were a tad too young. If ye’re prepared properly ye should be fine. First time is not actually supposed to hurt, even though a slight discomfort is to be expected.”_

_Paul bit his lip and looked nervous._

” _What if I’m not good enough?” he asked with a tiny voice and George sighed, placing a hand on Paul’s shoulder. Paul didn’t shake it off._

” _I don’t think that’s possible, really. He loves ye, right? I think he’d be just happy if ye burnt him with matches an’ said that it represents yer inner soul.”_

” _I don’t think I’d do that.”_

” _Ye never know. Might be a fetish, ye see.”_

” _So… I should definitely have sex with John?”_

” _Of course. Till that ye’re still the Holy Virgin.”_

***~**~***

So Paul was actually anxious. Anxious to forget the whole thing and anxious to GET ON IT and GO FOR IT and DO IT ALREADY and S sxxEExXX. These thoughts had been running in his head for _two whole months_ now and he couldn't get away. He knew that he _had_ to at least _try_ asking John if they could, maybe, perhaps, uh, have, like, sex? Paul had difficulties even thinking about the word.

He had meant to talk about it today. Test the ground a bit. But then John had come home and they had eaten and Paul had prepared himself to _say it_ (btw, wanna have anal sex? I have lube) when John's iPhone had said with George's monotonic voice "An email that might be from me so better check it now you homosexual macho man" (Paul didn't understand why John didn't change the alert sound). And John had glanced at his phone, his features had stiffened and he had said that he would rather read it from his computer and that was the start of the evening.

What a nice evening.

Paul turned on his side and sighed, staring now at the Sea of Clothes with hazy eyes, looking for any moving... things. He didn't see any, but he still decided not to put his hand down there.

At least his relationship with _his_ parents was just as before. Mary was just as kind and loving as always and Jim was just as... before. Mary had always been ready to welcome John into the family and now took full advantage of John being kind of her son-in-law (Paul tried not to blush at the thought). It was more than usual to see John talking with her on Skype or texting her or speaking with her on the phone. Paul didn't feel any jealousy; instead his heart always filled with extreme love and adoration towards both his boyfriend and his mother. Even though they spent the majority of time comparing his bad habits.

His father, surprisingly, had kind of taken John under his wing. After hearing about John's mother from Mary (she did not know the whole story, nor did Paul, but some) Jim had immediately called John and said with his Dad Voice in full use that their home was his too and that if he ever needed a helping parent Jim would prefer to be the one. At that point John had dropped his Nokia with his mouth gaping and Paul had had to save the situation by bringing it back from the floor before it disappeared under the clothes for the rest of eternity.

So, John was now almost officially part of the McCartney family. Even Paul's brother Mike (who had heard the news from over-excited Mary) had dropped by one weekend and congratulated Paul with a sly smile which probably meant "finally you won't be stealing my birds anymore". But then he had somehow developed a huge fan crush on John and had spent the rest of the evening laughing at every joke John said, no matter how bad they became after three beers. Paul had considered throwing his brother from the balcony, but then George had fortunately started showing them his dildo collection and Paul's murderous intentions quickly shifted to him.

Mike had seemed interested, though.

Paul wondered if calling Mary would do any good at this moment. She could probably help John a bit, at least calm down his thundering emotions. Paul sensed that the following days would be full of unbalanced John; the John that would make impolite comments to anyone, would start drinking the moment he came home and would overall be in a bad mood for the whole day.

Paul didn't hate that John. He understood where it all came from, but he wished to be able to do something more for him when he was having his bad mood on. Usually Paul just sat back and followed John carefully, not doing anything to keep John from lashing out on him, but keeping an eye out and taking care that John wouldn't hurt anyone, or _himself_.

The Julia thing was as unwelcomed as George without any clothes on while being drunk with a _buttplug_ in his arse. Paul had everlasting trauma.

Speaking of the Devil, there was a knock on the door and Paul knew immediately that it was George. Ringo would just call his name and John would just come in. He sat up on the bed, made sure that he had an open way to make a dash in case the lad got affectionate and called out a ‘come in’.

"I came to check on you," George said as he peeped his head in and squinted in the dark room. Paul hadn't bothered to turn on the lights.

"I'm fine, I'm more worried about John," Paul muttered and George let out a deep breath before getting inside, switching on the lights and crossing his arms over his chest.

"I hate it that she’s coming," he then said with a frown. It had been a long time since Paul had heard him talk so... seriously. Without triggering any of Paul's annoyed nerves. There was usually always this tiny manic glint in George's eyes that gave away that he was thinking about dirty gay sex.

"She's come once before," the younger man sighed and Paul's eyebrows rose, his mouth opened but nothing came out.

"Yeah," George said with a quiet voice before jumping over the clothes to the chair, pushed the clothes on top of it down on the floor and sat on it, crossing his arms again. "When we were fifteen. She popped up from nowhere an' was all cheerful an’ stuff. John almost lost it." Now George's eyes filled with sadness and frustration. Paul stared.

"He demanded an answer for why had she left ‘im all alone for all those years. She acted like nothin’ had happened, but when John finally shouted at her face she said that 'it was a mistake I made. I was too young to have a child. Besides, Hollywood sounded so intriguing!'. And then she went on and on without ever stoppin’, _never_ stoppin’ to think how it _hurt John_."

George's voice was now definitely angry and Paul blinked at the unusual feeling radiating from his ex-best friend (he had at some point decided that George wasn't worthy of his friendship anymore and had just simply named him the Ex-Best Friend, which didn't actually affect their relationship in any way. Only made George even more frustrating). Moreover, it was the story that hit him with full impact.

"Wait," he started and he felt his blood starting to boil. "You mean to say that _she_ said _straight to John_ that he had been a _mistake_?!??"

"Well, John took it that way, of course, bein’ the fifteen-year old he was. Maybe Julia meant more like that it was a mistake to leave ‘im. But then she left _again_ and John has never really recovered from that," George ran a hand through his hair and turned to look at Paul in the eye, his posture stiff and his expression pained.

"He's never told me anything," Paul mumbled and wrapped his arms around his knees. "He just said that 'she left me when I was little to go to Hollywood' and that's all. I know bits'n pieces but not... not what _you_ know."

"Of course he doesn't talk ‘bout it, and for most part of his life he doesn't even think ‘bout it," George waved his hand and for a while he was the same old George, irritating people with just his body language and tone of his voice. With his next words, however, the illusion was gone and his eyes were back to the previous flaming black holes.

"But it's always there anyway, and he surely thinks about it when he gets those no-good emails from ‘er that always end with 'xxx' an' _never_ show any real emotion. She's never answered to any of ‘is emails! If it was Mimi writin’, then yes, but as soon as John got his own email address she ‘asn't answered! Only sends 'Happy birthday, darling Johnny, xxx' and that's it! An' _every time_ John dies a little bit inside!" George gritted his teeth and left Paul feeling really helpless. What was he supposed to do? How could he ever help John with a cut as deep as this?

"I don't know what to do," he breathed and buried his face into his hands. "It hurts him so much, and it hurts me so much to see him go through that. But I don't know how I could make it better."

"Jus’ be there for him," George muttered and lifted his left leg over the other, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe it makes a difference, that ye're there. Maybe it makes Julia realise somethin’, if he sees ye supportin’ John. Maybe she’ll understand that John needs a proper apology an’ words from her that it's never been his fault that she’s abandoned ‘im. It definitely makes things easier for _him_ , when he has a shoulder to cry on. Last time it was me, but..." George looked at the wall with blurry eyes, seemingly lost in thoughts. Paul waited, feeling a rare pang of sympathy for his friend (ex- best friend! EX!). It must've been hard for George too, sometimes.

A flash of something old, of something from a year back came to him briefly and he blinked when he finally understood the real meaning behind them.

 _"And I won't have him, just as I won't have you 'cos both of you are my friends, but I can't_ _**have** _ _you two!"_

Those words that George had more or less shouted at his face back then, back when Paul had been so angry at John, and John had been on the balcony and then Paul had went there and then he and John had started dating... those words... oh God.

George was still...

"Now he's got you," the lad closed his eyes and his head lowered just a little bit, as if to admit defeat. "Now he's got you and I couldn't really be happier, to be truthful. Everythin's gonna turn out fine as long as ye two are together."

Paul, for his astonishment, felt his throat close up and the unmistakable feeling of tears start in the pit of his stomach.

"George," he breathed and George lifted his head, looked at Paul with tired eyes, looking young and small and just _sad_. "You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

They stared at each other for a long, long time before George let out a small chuckle and shook his head, turning his eyes away.

"It's not important right now. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"I think I'd sound too Dumbledore if I asked 'all this time'," Paul muttered and George snorted, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I, on the other hand, can't be Snape as in these days I tend to lean more towards Ringo. In the beginnin' ‘cos I was young, and because he was available, but now..." the younger man looked thoughtful and Paul had a short fleeting realisation that he was actually only twenty-two. (Paul, himself, at the great age of twenty-three didn't feel much better at the moment. If you thought about it they were all still children, compared to old hags like Mimi.)

"Now I can only think ‘bout him, and I'm not sure how to react to it. So I fuck ‘round, blokes and birds, an’ try to forget that he's doin’ the exact same thing, an’ then I come back to him 'cos I can't stay away."

"Yeah," Paul grinned slowly, "that's called love. Maybe it would do you both good if you started a serious relationship."

George looked so lost at the moment that Paul felt his smile slip away and then he did the unspeakable: he opened his arms and motioned for George to come over. George stared at him with wide eyes for a moment before standing up and hopping over to the bed, soon melting against Paul comfortably.

"I admit that you know everything when it comes to sex," Paul started and George chuckled against him faintly, "but there's still much that we _both_ have to learn about relationships. But I'd say that at this point I'd be quite qualified to teach you a bit."

"Teach, like in the naughty meanin' of the word or the one that ye probably mean?" George asked and Paul huffed, causing the younger man to laugh this time.

"You know," he sighed and squeezed George tighter. George squeezed back.

"I appreciate it," he muttered, "but I think that I'll do jus’ fine. Maybe I'll talk with Ringo. I just..." he paused and Paul waited, wondering if John knew what was going on in his bed or if he was happily unaware of the fact that George had been let to their territory.

"The first crush is so hard to overcome, y'know," George sighed finally and Paul nodded, just held his ex-best friend. "Especially when he lives in the same flat as ye."

"Who lives in the same flat as who?" said a voice from the door and both boys jumped, Paul pushing George fast away from him. John stared at them with eyebrows knitted together, Ringo behind him with a frown but an amused glint in his eyes.

"Did you hear anything?" Paul asked quickly, glancing at George. The lad might've been a major pain in the arse for most of the time, but that didn't mean that Paul would go and tell George's biggest secrets to anyone, even to his own boyfriend. Who just happened to be the subject of the whole thing.

"No? Only the last sentence," John arched his eyebrows and suspicion entered his face. Paul felt his face heat up. He was the Worst Liar Ever.

"We were talkin' bout how nice it is to have a walkin' sex machine 'round the town, ' _specially_ when he lives here with us!" George jumped up, his face cheerful and sickeningly manic. He turned his eyes on Ringo with a wolfish smile on his lips and then he winked, got up from the bed and jumped on the older man without so much of a word. Then it was all lips and teeth and wet sounds from their direction and John rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe those two. Here I am, having a huge internal crisis and they just go around and _fuck_."

"Well," was Ringo's breathy voice heard from the hallway, "isn't it nice to have some stability in these unsure times? Jesus, Geo."

"I will drive my cock _so_ hard in yer mouth _right now_ ," George commented and then there was a slam when their bedroom door was shut.

Paul stared at air and wondered how George was even possible. One moment he was being small and lost and young and all that, and then in the next he was... the Devil. The Devil himself.

John closed their door and stood on the verge of the Sea of Clothes, looking tired but kind of normal. There were no extra wrinkles in his face and his body was relaxed and expression neutral. Paul raised his eyebrows. John sighed.

"I'm okay," he said and got on the bed, carefully avoiding the deepest parts of the Sea. He sat, crossed his legs and took a hold of Paul's hand, started playing with his fingers.

"I talked with Ringo and I swear, there's some magic involved there. He just manages to calm me down every time he turns those eyes on me. I don't know how he does it," John's eyes were wide and Paul laughed, taking in John's beautiful face. How he loved him.

"It's Ringo," he stated and John grinned, nodded in agreement.

"It's Ringo," he confirmed and brought his hand up to Paul's cheek, stroked it with gentle moves.

"I love you so much," he mumbled and Paul smiled widely, leaning into John's touch.

"I know. I love you too," he answered and pressed his hand against John's thigh, supporting his weight there. John leaned forward and kissed the tip of Paul's nose, making Paul chuckle.

"It's gonna be alright," John then smiled, his mouth inches away from Paul's. Paul felt a good amount of saliva on his tongue. "As long as I've got you."

"Too sappy," Paul breathed, "gotta shut you up."

"Go on," John grinned and Paul pressed in the last inches, let his mouth touch John's lips gently and lovingly.

***~**~***

"So... What are you gonna do then?" Paul asked the next Monday morning, staring at the kettle absentmindedly. He had avoided the topic the whole Sunday, trying to distract John. It probably hadn't helped, but at least he had tried.

John sighed and shrugged.

"I really have no idea. I guess I'll wait a bit and think, and then just... I don't know. I can't say yet."

"That's okay," Paul said quietly and glanced at the other. "Nobody expects you to do _anything_ , really."

"Mm," John hummed and tapped the table with his finger. Paul closed his eyes and listened to the sound, exhaustion washing over him. He hadn't slept much, and not the night before either, worrying over John. The man said that he was okay now, after Magic Ringo Time™, and Paul believed him, he did, but he couldn't help but fret. He knew that John knew it, and the lad had been shooting him worried and irritated but at the same time slightly fond glances during the whole morning. Paul would answer with an even stare, bags under his blurry eyes. He _wasn't_ going to feel stupid for caring about John.

The kettle whistled and Paul got up before John could. He felt a bit dizzy in the head and wondered how he could get through a whole day at work. Damn Julia for messing up his sleeping schedule as well.

"You know," John started as Paul fumbled with the tea bag, "it's not your problem. I don't want... I don't want you to bother yourself with this. It just makes it more difficult."

Paul stopped and lowered the tea bag on the counter, turning slowly to look at John. He frowned and John snapped his mouth shut, knowing instantly that he'd said the wrong thing. Paul was glad that he'd at least established the sentence "Shut Up When Paul Frowns" in their relationship.

"More difficult?" he narrowed his eyes and John leant a bit back, already preparing himself for Fire and Murder. "More _difficult_??? I'm worried about you, and you blame me for it?? What do you expect me to do, just sit around and watch you in pain???"

"No, I--" John started, his eyes widening and his whole body shouting alarm.

"Don't you fuckin' try to stop me from _caring_ ," Paul hissed, grabbed the tea bag, throwing it inside the kettle and pressing the lid shut with angry movements. "Don't even _try_ to make me feel guilty because of it!!"

"You get me wrong," John sighed and stood up, walked over to Paul and lifted his hands, rubbed Paul's arms calmingly. "I'm glad that you worry. There's just _no need_ at the moment."

"How can I tell?" Paul asked, his voice small. John took the kettle from him and placed it back on the counter before returning his hands to Paul. They lowered on his shoulders and Paul breathed in deeply, feeling his heart jolt as it did every time John touched him.

"Paul, I'm worried about _you_ ," John said gently and leant forward, searching Paul's eyes. "You barely _slept_ last night, and before that too. This problem isn't worth that much. If George had offered to _fuck_ Julia with his dildo collection -and that's something I never wanna think again, thank you very much-, _then_ I might have some real problems to think about."

He paused for a second and lifted his left hand, stroking Paul's chin with it.

"But it isn't so, and this is basically just me wondering whether to meet her or not. It's not a big deal. So I don't want you to worry about it, or worry about me, or I'm gonna have to knock you out this evening," he smiled and Paul blinked, his eyes blurring when exhaustion seemed to take over him. John was fine. There was nothing to worry about. He could relax, if he still kept a careful eye on his boyfriend.

"Okay," he mumbled, the letters mixing up on his tongue. John grinned and patted the top of his head.

"That's my lad. Now, sit down and I'll get the milk."

Paul would leave it for now. But that didn't mean that he would just stand back and watch idly as John tried to handle his emotions and solve the Julia thing all on his own.

No. He was going to do something drastic and not-planned. Something that John would hate him for. But the lad didn't need to know about Paul's sudden and risky plan _yet_.

John poured him tea and they sat down, John watching him carefully but lovingly, Paul eyeing his tea with adoring eyes. George and Ringo were still asleep; this was one of the few mornings that Paul had his shift starting at the same time as John.

"I thought of inviting Stu over," John said finally, taking a sip of his tea before adding a bit more milk. Paul nodded and lifted his gaze.

"Okay. We can make chips'n sausages."

"Sounds gear," John paused and then grimaced.

"See, he's... he feels lonely, with Astrid away an' all. It doesn't show much, but it bothers him, having to spend weekends alone."

Paul bit his lip, feeling a twang of sympathy somewhere in his chest. He nodded again.

"Yeah, invite him over. We'll watch a film and get drunk. That always helps."

"It does, doesn't it?" John tilted his head and looked relieved. Paul smiled and reached for the milk.

"I wouldn't wanna imagine how it'd be to live in another country as you," he said and John hmm-ed, his eyes sweeping from his tea to Paul.

"She's coming over for Christmas, apparently, but it's a long time till that. Many weekends," he muttered and Paul let out a sympathetic sound. He didn't know how Stuart managed, because he was so clearly in love with Astrid. At least based on what he (and John) had said.

"I can bring the groceries before I get home," Paul swirled the spoon in the cup, trying to get it colder with sheer will. He didn't like too much milk in his tea.

"Yeah," John answered and then his eyes landed on the clock on the wall.

"Oh shit," he just said and disappeared from the kitchen faster than Paul could raise his eyebrow. He could feel a slight wind on his face as John dashed away and chuckled to himself. He supposed there wouldn't be time for snogging against the front door.

"See ye later, love!" John shouted from the door and Paul let out an incomprehensible sound that he knew John would interpret as "Yes, darling, I love you too very much, have a nice day at work and don't worry about cleaning your stuff in the kitchen, I'll do it for you dear". The door was shut and silence fell over the flat, George and Ringo still deeply sleeping.

Paul knew they were sleeping, because they would never be _that_ quiet otherwise. He sighed to himself and sipped his tea, making a face when it was a bit too hot.

He still had about fifteen minutes before having to get up from the table; he'd found no reason to stay in bed longer and had wanted to spend the morning with John. He found himself fingering the outline of his phone in his pocket.

It was now late evening in Hollywood.

Sooner than he knew, he had flipped his phone out and started scrolling through the contact list. Yesterday evening he had taken Julia's phone number from the bottom of the email, though he couldn't be sure whether it was actually hers or her manager's. It was worth a shot anyway.

He looked at the name in the screen and frowned. He wasn't even sure if he could think clearly while so tired, but he knew exactly what he wanted to say to John's so-called mother. He was angry, and he was pissed off, and he was _protective_ . And _John's boyfriend_ , so he had the rights.

He called.

The phone beeped for four times before a bright woman's voice answered.

 _"Julia Stanley speaking,"_ she said. Her accent was definitely Liverpudlian, but Paul could hear certain vowels leaning towards their American version. He didn't know what Julia looked like, but she sounded happy and carefree, and he felt his heart blacken at the thought. This was the woman that had caused so much _pain_ by being too carefree and happy.

"Hello," he said and decided to take a formally cold approach to the phone call. If he started accusing right away, he would just seem stupid. He would have to play this carefully, and for once thanked his history of studying English in uni.

Even if he had been kicked out. But that was George's fault anyway. Even if not directly.

"This is Paul McCartney. I'm calling because of the email you sent to John."

 _"Oh?"_ the voice seemed to brighten up at the mention of John, _"You're a friend of his?"_

"I'm his-," Paul paused for a nanosecond, too short for Julia to notice the empty beat in his brain as he wondered what would be the most appropriate way to do this; would he be listened more as a best friend than a boyfriend?

"-boyfriend," he decided and listened to the silence at the other end of the phone.

_"Boyfriend? John has a boyfriend?? Since when did he-"_

"Since October of last year," Paul deadpanned, feeling his emotions close inside and a frightening, calm, businesslike tone enter his voice.

"I'm calling about the email, and I want you to know the following: I know everything that's happened. I don't care whether you realise it or not, but your actions in the past have hurt John _a lot_. You've said straight to his face that he was an accident, and you've abandoned him over and over."

Julia tried to say something but Paul didn't give her the chance. He continued straight away, leaning back in his chair and crossing his right hand over his chest.

“Now you're coming back, and you expect him to be ready and happy to see you, when in fact he's just become a lost child all over again, not knowing how to handle the situation. So I'm calling to let you know, that _if_ you plan on hurting him again, dismissing his pain and thoughts, then you'll have hell to pay, and you can be quite sure that as long as I'm around, you'd never have a chance to see him. I can be quite protective when I want to, and believe me, Ms. Stanley, that you've woken _every damn_ protective nerve that I got in my body. _No one_ hurts John if I can do something about it,” he hissed and then, finally closed his mouth, satisfied with his speech. He hadn't planned it before, but it was just basically all his frustration and hatred against Julia coming up.

Silence took over the phone call and Paul narrowed his eyes at the clock. Ten minutes. He felt his eyes drooping.

Then, quietly, softly, Julia let out a tiny sound.

 _"_ _Oh,_ _"_ she said and Paul felt a small, satisfied jolt in his chest. She had actually _listened_.

 _"I've never... I don't know what to say,"_ Julia sounded appalled. Paul didn't know what kind of a woman could really be so careless of her son. Didn't she care _at all_ ? How hadn't she noticed? And John had, according to George, even talked about his feelings, something that he rarely did. He had asked why Julia had left him. And he'd been told that he was a _mistake_.

Paul knew that John had been a mistake. He knew that John knew that as well. But he also knew that it didn't bother him as much as Julia not actually caring.

"There's nothing for you to say, except an apology to John," he said, voice freezing. It felt good, to be able to put his foot down once and stop being the diplomatic one. "You owe him _plenty_ of 'em."

” _I- I-,"_ Julia started but Paul didn't give her any chance.

"Oh my, look at the time!" he said cheerfully, standing up. "It was nice talkin' to you! Bye!"

” _Hey, wait--"_

Paul hit the screen, cutting the call. He felt _so good_. He couldn't be sure whether he had made the mess bigger or not, but sometimes there were things one just had to do. He wouldn't bear a moment more of waiting and sitting. He was going to help John.

If only to keep his mind from wandering to places he didn't want it to go, like John's biceps or his wonderful, smooth thighs.

 _'I'm not thinking about that now'_ , he told himself sternly as his mind betrayed him in its tired state. He sighed and was just about to put the phone in his pocket when it started buzzing with an incoming call.

He glanced at the name in the screen, smiled to himself, and pocketed the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that the ride is only at the beginning. Aaaaah. Hope everyone is still aboard.
> 
> I'd ask for kudos and comments but that feels like trying to gain attention. So I just won't and hope you understand to LEAVE THEM without me mentioning them. Cheers.


	2. George Is Less Distorted Here

****It was later that evening that John decided to talk with Mary and Jim. Paul had stayed longer at work, because apparently it meant more money and he would get to start his Christmas holiday a bit earlier that way. John was slightly pissed off with this turn of the events, as it destroyed his plans of having a Peaceful Evening with just a slight amount of George Behind The Bedroom Door, but he couldn't really complain. Maybe he could manipulate Jeff into giving him a long holiday.

He placed himself into the kitchen, as the table in their room was hopelessly filled with Paul's papers (what he did with them, John didn't know) and he just didn't _feel_ like going into the living room while George and Ringo were there, well... doing. Stuff.

At least he had to hope that they would clean the room after... _finishing_ . John suspected that _something_ lived on that carpet and it sure as hell wasn't the three day old coke Paul had dropped on it. No. It was something way more _ancient_.

He opened the laptop and glanced at his old Nokia phone, reading Mary's text for the fifth time in the past thirty minutes.

_ _ __  


Why would _Mimi_ contact _Paul's_ parents??? John wasn't sure what to think about, because first and foremost, he was quite sure Mimi wanted to pretend Paul didn't _exist_ . Second, it had been three months since their visit to Liverpool and since that she had pretended _John_ didn't exist, either.

So why would she show signs of actually being alive _now_?

(John had started to suspect that she had started loathing John's way of life so much that she had just simply ceased existing, because there was no way that she would live in the same world as The Homosexual Nephew. John wouldn't be too surprised if she had just exploded one day and no one would really know, because Mimi wasn't the most social person in the world. If she didn't contact you, she didn't want to see you. And so all her friends waited for her to call. And that way no one would know if Mimi had just went into Dragon Mode and died. John wasn't sure if he should start mourning now or wait till someone would inform him in a year that sorry, your aunt's dead, we found her _still_ smoking body from the dining room. It was better to be prepared anyway.)

He would probably find the answers by calling Mary, and so he did.

 _"John! So nice to see you!,"_ Mary exclaimed the moment his face appeared to her. John grinned at the sight of Mary sitting at the computer, Jim behind her, apparently very uncomfortable with having to be so far away from the camera. It was the first time in three months that John saw his face whole.

"Likewise," he answered and leant his chin on his hand, feeling warm and safe when Mary smiled at him. Jim let out a sound between a grunt and a snort, which John thought meant "It it good to see you doing well, John my dear boy, I have missed you and I have been wondering whether you're going to get married with my darling boy yet or are you going to make me wait even longer". He smiled in the direction of Mr. McCartney Senior.

"Good to see you too, Jim," he said and Jim now definitely snorted _before_ grunting something incomprehensible. John was moved to the very core.

 _"I guess you want to hear about your aunt?"_ Mary raised her eyebrows and John nodded, if not a bit hesitantly.

"You guys are still alright? I mean, her bark is _definitely_ worse than her bite, and you seem physically fine so I assume she only barked."

 _"She was pleasant enough,"_ Mary waved her hand in the air nonchalantly, _"nothing that I couldn't handle. I am not going to let someone foul-mouth my boys, even if she_ _is_ _kind of family."_

"You spoke her down???" John stared at Mary with wide eyes. As Jim nodded meaningfully behind her, John's respect towards his almost mother-in-law grew up to the sky.

"Wow," he could just utter and Mary laughed. Her laugh was a little morphed through the computer, but it still sounded like bells ringing through the air. The first time John had heard Mary's laugh, he had thought that there was at least one thing Paul had inherited without a doubt. "You gotta teach me your tricks. I've been tryin' to do that for _years_!"

 _"It wasn't too difficult,"_ Mary's eyes twinkled and she winked, _"I just spoke of you like you were family."_

"Oh God," John groaned and even Jim smiled, "that's like waving a red cloth in front of a bull. How are you still _alive_???"

 _"It was like watching a tiger go against_ _a_ _bull,"_ Jim said now and John tried not to imagine how it had been with Mary and Mimi. They could both be bloody terrifying, but John hadn't seen Mary have a go at it yet. He only had that memory of... _that_ when her voice had immediately made his body scream 'danger' and every hair on his skin had raised, and his back had washed cold. He could well imagine how Mary would use that poisonous, sweet voice against Mimi. It would make his dear aunt _mad_.

 _"Don' t exaggerate, dear,"_ Mary swatted at Jim's hand and turned to look at John again with a smile. _"Now, I was_ _**really** _ _surprised when she showed up..."_

... _Jim was sat in his armchair, reading the newspaper and enjoying his five o'clock tea. Mary was currently reading Paul's blog from her new smartphone, sniggering to herself. Jim still didn't know the address, and no one would give it to him; he guessed that they didn't want to risk him starting to dislike John again._

_In Jim's opinion that was utterly ridiculous. He wouldn't stop liking the lad just because of some silly blog texts, right? For him it was still a bit hazy how Mary had got her hands on the Internet address. She had just grinned and said something about "blackmailing", "intimidation" and "baby-photos". How these things came together, Jim didn't know. But he knew that he could never have access on the address, if acquiring it meant being forced to succumb to those foul things that Mary did on daily basis._

_He turned the page and got a glance at the daily crisscross when the doorbell rang._

_He glanced at Mary and decided that Mary was too occupied to get up and get to the door. When he and she had first got together his parents had wondered what would ail a young woman act so_ _**selfishly** _ _and_ _**lazily** _ _, as to put his boyfriend to every available housework there was. He had quickly learnt that Mary was one of those people who wouldn't put up with anyone's criticism and who would get what she wanted. They lived in perfect balance; Mary said, Jim did. Except when it came to preparing the house for the children. She still didn't trust his taste in bed linen._

 _Whatever he had been waiting for, it wasn't a stern-looking elderly woman with a flo_ _ral_ _dress that somehow made her look extremely threatening._

_Jim stared at her and she stared back. Jim was determined to let her speak first and state who she was and why she looked so angry, but the woman didn't show any signs of opening her mouth. He started getting a bit uncomfortable as the silence stretched and finally decided to just, do something. Be polite._

_"Good morning?" he raised his eyebrows and the woman_ _**snorted** _ _._

_"Yes, good morning indeed. Are you James McCartney?"_

_"I am, yes," Jim was now slightly confused, but after spending his whole life in an industrial company as a secretary he had learnt not to question everything that came his way. He had also learnt to hide his less confident feelings under a cover of a polished and well-educated gentleman that he actually was. "And you would be..?" He fixed a stern look at the woman, which, however, didn't rival with the one he got in return._

_"Mimi Smith," was the woman's answer and Jim's eyes widened in surprise._

_"John's aunt," he said and Mrs. Smith's nostrils flared._

_"That would be the case. I want to talk about your... son," she said and Jim couldn't help but let his eyebrows draw together in suspicion. What he had heard from John, this woman wasn't very kind, even if she cared in her own ways. But according to John, the lad hadn't heard a word from her since their visit to Liverpool. Why would she se_ _ek out_ _Jim and Mary and talk with_ _**them** _ _about_ _**Paul?** _

_His mind logically informed him that the only way to find out was to invite the woman in and be at least somewhat polite. He was quite sure that Mary would be the one to take care of this conversation anyway -if she had managed to_ _change Jim's mind_ _about their son's relationship, maybe she had chances to do the same to John's aunt._

_Jim doubted it though, eyeing the wrinkles around Mrs. Smith's mouth. There was a woman who scowled too much and smiled too little._

“ _Please, do come in,” he ended up saying, stepping to the side and giving Mrs. Smith enough space to walk through the doorway. He almost waited for bodyguards to jump from the flowerbeds and rush in as well, but nothing happened._

_Jim raised his eyebrows, thinking 'huh', and closed the door._

_He instructed Mrs. Smith in and tried to smile pleasantly, but it was hard with such a stony face in front of him. How had this woman ever managed to raise such a smiling, charming and wonderful man that John was???_

_(Jim had to admit the fact that everyone was well aware of; He had very much adopted the boy. He had first been doubting of him, but then Mary had… after a_ _**conversation** _ _with her Jim had seen the light. And then, after hearing the tragic story of John and his mother, he just couldn't leave it be. He had got rather fond of John, then.)_

 _(Mary was sure that if the marriage wasn't already promised by George Harrison, Jim would be growling at every person and object in the world until it became true. Jim was sure he wouldn't be_ _**that** _ _dramatic._

_(He wondered if they were going to adopt, in the future.)_

_(Jim wanted that marriage_ _**so** _ _bad.)_

“ _Here, please, make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Smith,” he said as they entered the living room. Mary had put down her phone and had stood up, managing to look welcoming, bemused and suspicious all at the same time, without the two latter emotions coming through to those who didn't know her._

“ _Mary McCartney,” she said and started offering her hand, but Mrs. Smith waved her own impatiently and said with the rudest voice ever:_

“ _Yes yes, I am aware of that. How have you raised your son?”_

_That was not the thing Jim had waited for (well, not at least so early in the conversation) and he felt appalled by the woman's brusque words._

“ _Pardon me?” Mary's eyes narrowed and Jim knew that she felt the same. They both, at least, appreciated good manners and had also taught that to their sons. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be needed at all, by the way Mary's whole body tensed as she caught on what John's aunt had said._

“ _You see, Mrs. McCartney,_ _ **my**_ _nephew_ _ **cannot**_ _be homosexual, so I know it must be_ _ **yours**_ _that has somehow made him believe that he is in_ _ **love**_ _with a_ _ **man**_ _," Mrs. Smith said, not changing her tone. Jim had to stop his thought process for a minute and listen a bit more carefully._ _ **What**_ _was this woman_ _ **saying**_ _?_

 _"So, I want you to make him stop it. There is no way that John would have done this o_ _f_ _his own accord."_

_Jim cringed. Mrs. Smith was about to go down, if the flash in Mary's eyes was anything to go by._

“ _Are you, dear Mrs. Smith, saying that_ _ **our son**_ _is responsible for turning John_ _ **gay**_ _?” Mary asked and there was definitely an undertone in her voice that screamed danger. The hair_ _on_ _the back of Jim's neck stood up and he closed his eyes for a moment to fight the urge to run out of the room as fast as he could._

“ _Yes, is that not the case?” Mrs. Smith was either unaware of the danger she had put herself into, or just did not care. Mary looked ready to tear the woman down._

“ _You have decided that somehow it is possible to change one's sexual orientation by force??” Mary's voice was bewildered. Jim walked past Mrs. Smith and stepped on his wife's side to show that he fully supported anything that Mary possibly had to say. He had gone through this conversation before, only then he had been in the receiving end. Thank God that was not the case now._

“ _I do not see how_ _ **my**_ _nephew could somehow be a_ _ **homosexual**_ _,” John's aunt sneered and Jim glanced at Mary with eyes that said 'Can you believe this?'. Mary looked pitying._

“ _It's rather sad,” she then said, tilting her head. Jim knew what was going on; Mary was taking an emphatic approach to the situation, something that was a carefully chosen tactic to make the opponent lose their cool and find themselves in the losing end. Mary was a master when it came to arguments. She had, fortunately or not, gave that skill to both of his sons as well. Jim was not sure how John and Paul managed their every day life, but to him it seemed that Paul -somehow- had the upper hand when it came to decisions. He pitied John slightly._

“ _What is?” Mrs. Smith said rudely (or then not; Maybe her overall attitude just made her sound so_ _ **rude**_ _all the time. Maybe it was all in Jim's head)._

“ _How John has lost almost all of his relatives,” Mary looked now close to tearing up. Jim could taste the phony air that radiated from his wife, but maybe it did not quite reach Mrs. Smith, who looked confused._

“ _Yes, how tragic,” Mary sniffed. Jim resisted the urge to say that she was overdoing it_ _ **just**_ _a bit, “how he does not have any contact with those who raised him up. Just the other day he sounded so distressed, but fortunately he can always count on us… What would it be like for him if we were to turn our backs at him as well?”_

“ _Are you implying something,” Mrs. Smith narrowed her eyes. Mary let out a scandalised gasp._

“ _Oh, how horrible it would be if we, the rest of his family, would abandon him!”_

“ _Mary,” Jim muttered so quietly that John's aunt could not hear (although Jim felt that she was one of those women who heard_ _ **everything**_ _), “I think you're slightly too dramatic.”_

_Mary did not even look at him, but she changed her way of standing. Her hands went on her hips, a sure sign that she was going to take off like a rocket soon, and her eyes narrowed as her gaze hardened._

“ _The point is,” she said with poison in her voice, “that John is a part of_ _ **our**_ _family. And you don't get to insult either him or Paul like that. By implying that it is bad to be a homosexual you are also dismissing John's identity and refusing to see him as he is. This is the 21th century, dear Mrs. Smith. Are you so stuck up in the past that_ _you think_ _two people loving each other is bad?!”_

“ _I do not support him doing such mindless, stupid things. This will hurt him in the end,” Mrs. Smith said loudly. “He is_ _ **my**_ _nephew, and I did_ _ **not**_ _raise him to be a queer!”_

“ _And I did not raise my son to be one, but here we are!” Mary spat the words out of her mouth, now in full protection-mode. Jim felt useless. “They are together, they are happy, and they are_ _ **madly**_ _in love! And I will_ _ **not**_ _let some stuck-up, close-minded, supposed-to-be-a-relative bash my boys!!”_

“ _ **Your**_ _boys??” Mrs. Smith looked scandalised on her part, but_ _now_ _her astonishment was real. Mary looked ready to sharpen her nails on the woman's face._

“ _John is family,” she said with a cold voice, straightening to her full height, crossing her arms over her chest. “And he is certainly_ _ **worth**_ _dating my son. I am happy for them, and maybe you should look past your own, miserable way of living and try to be happy for them_ _ **as well**_ _.”_

“Wow,” John breathed, his head in his hands. He lifted his gaze and stared at Mary in disbelief. “Mary, you are a _hero_. A fucking _phenomenon_."

Mary laughed and waved her hand dismissively.

” _Jim is exaggerating. I was not_ _ **that**_ _terrifying.”_

” _You were,”_ Jim said blankly. Mary purred.

” _Why, thank you, dear.”_

“I really want a relationship like the one you two have,” John sighed and then stopped to think.

“I actually already do. What did she do then?” He looked puzzled. Mary glanced at Jim in a silent question, and then started giggling.

” _She got out of the house as fast as she possibly could.”_

“No way. Mimi giving up a chance to argue? The end of the world is coming,” John said with a horrified tone and Mary laughed loudly. Even Jim cracked a small smile.

 _"She probably had a kettle on, or something else urgent waiting,"_ Mary smiled mischievously and John snorted with laughter.

"She probably had, to be honest."

He lapsed into silence and glanced at the fridge that was covered in post-it notes and photographs. There was one note that John always eyed with amusement; "Remember the lube". It was a note that never left and that was in the middle, where it had been planted a few years back. John guessed that George was always out of the said object.

He turned his head back to Mary and Jim and let out a small sigh.

"Julia is coming," he said quietly. A small tingle of uncertainty poked him in the back, just like always when he thought about his mother. Not that he didn't very often. Who needed sad thoughts when one could think of sex instead?

 _"Julia, your..."_ Jim raised his eyebrows and John grimaced.

"My so-called-mother," he jerked his head a bit to the side. Who could call Julia a mother? She could certainly act like one, if it happened in front of cameras. With John she had forgotten to put the role on.

Mary's and Jim's eyes widened and they glanced at each other. They did not know the whole story, but were well aware what a bastard Julia was. (Technically, the bastard was John. Maybe he was just projecting his own bad feelings on an innocent, selfless woman.)(As if.)

"She wants to see me," John continued, leaning his chin on his hand. "And I have no fucking clue what to do."

” _Do you want to see her?”_ Mary asked with a careful tone. John shrugged as well as he could from his position.

“I don't know. I don't wanna-” he cut himself off and sighed, shaking his head.

“I do. Of course I do,” he muttered. “But it'll just make me miserable, so what'd be the point?”

” _Maybe she's changed,”_ Mary suggested and Jim let out a small noise that could have been a tiger quietly growling. John snorted.

“She would've remembered my birthday then,” he shrugged. “Althought it's been a few months from the last one. I can't be too pushy now, can I?”

He glanced around the kitchen, not really knowing what to do and feeling quite miserable already, thank you very much. There was no Ringo to calm him down, and he started fidgeting with his fingers. Earlier, at a younger age he would have been drinking and smoking non-stop at the moment, spending nights outside and spitting into old people's faces. Not now though; he had thankfully grown out of that phase, mainly thanks to Cynthia and more recently, Paul.

” _You can't wa_ _nt_ _too much from her,”_ Jim said gruffly and John laughed softly and sadly.

“I can't. Fuck her. Fuck her and that one night where she got drunk and didn't come home until morning. I don't think she remembers that man with warmth.”

” _What do you mean?”_ Mary looked confused and Jim had raised his eyebrows, looking slightly worried. John adapted a nonchalant look and shrugged.

“Well, y'know, she went to a pub at the grand age of 20, got herself a man for one night and then found out that she was pregnant. I got no clue who my father could be. Probably died from drugs already, poor sod.”

Mary's expression turned from scandalised to a raging sea of motherly emotions. Jim looked only like he wanted to let Mary loose on John’s unknown father.

” _John, oh dear,”_ Mary let out a soft sigh. _”If I had only known earlier...”_

“There's not much to say,” John leant back in the chair and tilted his head. “I was an accident, and I'm fine with that. It's Julia who gets on my nerves. With growing up with someone like Mimi as your only example of motherly love, and then sometimes seeing friends with their mums… It kinda hurts. I couldn't stand having the same surname as Julia, so I changed it to something random when I turned 18. It was one of the first things I did,” he flashed a small smile.

Mary and Jim glanced at each other again, Mary looking close to tears. John didn't want that. Paul would have his head if John made his mother cry.

” _You must come to Liverpool soon,”_ Mary said softly to him then, shaking her head and looking somewhat crushed. _”I_ _ **really**_ _need to give you a long,_ _ **long**_ _hug.”_

“Looking forward to it,” John winked with a small laugh. Thinking about Julia didn't hurt any less, but the pain was soothed with the thought that _who needed her, when John had such wonderful people in his life?_ Mary and Jim made him feel safe and he was so, _so_ happy.

Bit by bit it started to feel like he had finally got real parents.

***~**~***

"I'm so tiiirrred," Paul groaned as he threw himself on the bed, crossing his arms behind his head. John started pulling his clothes off, scratching his neck absentmindedly.

"Yeah," he stated and tried to reach the middle of his back that had started itching rather uncomfortably.

Suddenly there were fingers against his skin and Paul's nails trailed over the itchy spot. John let out a sigh and relaxed his stance.

"Thanks," he shot a quick smile at Paul, who nodded and yawned, laying back on the bed.

"No problem," the lad then muttered and started opening his jeans slowly, looking like he would fall asleep soon.

John stared at Paul's crotch and swallowed, turning his head away.

"Greetings from your folks," he said, his throat feeling suddenly extremely dry. Paul hummed something from the bed, and John felt the upcoming conversation dying there and then. The sound of Paul pulling down his trousers made John's pulse quicken.

This was stupid. This was _ridiculous_ . There was no reason that he should have such a reaction while being in Paul's presence. There was no reason that the sound of Paul's _zipper_ should make his mouth _water_ slightly.

While going on about his normal life, he didn’t pay much attention to sexual thoughts that included him and Paul. In the bedroom, though, in the evening, things were different. That was when he couldn’t _escape_.

He turned back towards Paul and the dry, big lump in his throat got infinitely huge.

Since when had the sight of Paul's briefs been so intoxicating and exciting? John sure as hell didn't have energy to have sex now, but his dick seemed to disagree. He took a deep breath and bit his lip, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Paul still didn't even know what that sight of him, back in the bathroom a month ago had done to John. During sex he was unable to think about anything else but that, of that droplet of water there right at the _tip_ of Paul's _diCK_ AND ALL JOHN REALLY WANTED WAS TO SCREAM FROM SEXUAL FRUSTRATION-

He took another breath and closed his eyes. He would have to calm down, get on the bed and _sleep_ , without sparing a thought at how Paul's whole figure made him _hot_ all over...

"Are you alright?" Paul's voice was inquiring and John glanced at him, forcing a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, I'm just tired," he grinned, hoping that his Fake Smile™ would work on Paul. It rarely did, though.

Paul frowned and climbed on his side of the bed that was next to the wall. He sat down, only wearing his briefs (why??? John's cock yelled) and patted the bed in front of him.

"Join us, then," he raised his eyebrows and John sighed, cracked his neck and threw his jeans and socks away before hopping over to the bed, hoping to quickly get under the sheets.

They lay down and after a while Paul turned on his side, facing John. He was close, almost _too_ close, and in the dark room John could barely see his eyes. There was a street lamp right under their window, and even though the curtains were drawn there was a small ray of light that illuminated parts of the white ceiling. Paul's eyes reflected that light, and John blinked as he leant closer by his own accord before pressing his forehead against Paul's.

He let out a small sigh and Paul smiled at him, not saying anything. There was something so deep in Paul sometimes; how he would look at John with a certain expression, quietly and knowingly. That was the gaze that made John feel _loved_ , and like he could read all of Paul's feelings. And he knew that Paul could read his as well. During those moments the bond between them strengthened, the love between them deepened. And John's want towards Paul increased drastically, which, at th at moment, was _bad._

Paul sneaked his hand up and placed it against John's cheek, stroking his fingers along John's jawline. John didn't say anything, but as the fingers came closer to his mouth he couldn't help but catch one between his lips.

Paul's breath stopped for a second before he let out a giggle and wiggled his finger.

"It's like a meat lollipop," he snorted and started laughing quietly. John fought against snickering and tried to avoid it by doing the only logical thing; sucking at the finger in his mouth.

Paul's laughter died down and his breathing was cut _again_ for a small moment before he seemed to collect himself and just smiled nonchalantly at John, trying to look that this was not affecting him in any ways. John knew better, though; Paul's skin was getting hot.

He let the finger fall from his mouth and Paul pulled his hand back a bit jerkily, his breathing shallow. They stared at each other and John could see Paul's eyes widen before they narrowed, a hand sneaked at the back of John's head, holding his neck, and then Paul was kissing him messily and hotly.

John had not planned this. He had thought of going to sleep without one single thought directed towards the lower anatomy of Paul's body. It seemed that Paul had decided otherwise.

Paul rubbed his tongue against John's and moaned, the atmosphere changing from tranquil to the hottest of hells in a nanosecond. The touch of Paul's hand in the back of his neck was burning and the feeling seemed to increase when Paul moved, lifted himself up and hovered above John, kissing him still.

 _'Here we go again,'_ John thought mildly as Paul's kisses turned desperate and short, deep and demanding. It became dirtier as seconds passed and John had barely time to catch his breath.

He got that feeling again; that bloody feeling that whatever he was giving to Paul was not _enough_.

" _Paul,"_ he breathed, tried to ask what it was that the younger man needed, but Paul let out another moan that resembled a whine and attacked John's mouth again, biting and sucking at his lips. John felt like someone had punched him right into Saturn, his mind was melting and body was turning into a burning pile of Skin That Wanted Paul With Every Inch. His boyfriend was a monster in bed, when he got the mood on.

"I thought you were- tired," he gasped when Paul lifted his head with a huge, open-mouthed inhale.

"I saw you-" the lad gasped, leaning closer again, "looking at me."

"That happens," John stated and Paul started snickering, but John was _not_ going to stop _now_ for a joke. His mouth was watering again and the taste of Paul lingered on his tongue, and the saliva currently in John's throat was both his and Paul's. And if that thought didn't turn him on, he didn't know what would.

(Paul's dripping dick came into mind, yes, but he tried not to think about that now.)

He leant up without warning and latched his mouth against Paul's throat, tasting salt with the sweat. He ran his tongue against Paul's collarbone, and Paul let out a long and a throaty groan, leaning backwards just as John leant up, moving his lips down towards Paul's chest. Paul's hands grabbed at his hair, and then John flipped them over.

Paul let out a small yell and John laughed as he pressed the lad against the mattress.

"Warn me next time-" Paul said breathily and God, if John didn't love that voice. He wouldn't mind if Paul sounded _always_ like this.

"Where's the fun in that?" John grinned up at him and Paul looked at him, a weird expression passing on his face. John frowned at it.

"You're down there," Paul murmured then, his fingers touching John's cheek again. John smiled and leant his head against Paul's touch.

"I am," he answered and Paul started laughing, his feet shifting. John's breath quickened again when the front of Paul's briefs touched his lower belly.

"Sorry," John said and kissed at Paul's fingers, "but I was in the middle of something."

Paul hummed, his lips parting and his gaze becoming heavy and full of lust. The sight was erotic and sensual, and John could not find a good reason why he would have ever found women more attractive, more desirable than this man in front of him. There was something in the darkness that increased the provocativeness of the situation, of the position.

He darted his tongue out and traced it against Paul's fingers, and once again Paul's breathing stopped for a tiny amount of time.

Was this what Paul wanted? John _wanted_ to make Paul feel good and it nagged him that he didn't seem to be enough to Paul. Sometimes he feared that Paul was leaving him; the way he quieted down after sex, seemed to be deep in thought and would not look at John in the eye told more than few simple words. But then there were the times where Paul _looked_ at him, and seemed to be equally deep in thought -in _erotic_ thoughts, as his eyes would cloud over, his breathing would quicken and his cheeks would redden. In those times, John's doubts disappeared.

But even now, when Paul was looking at him with eyes that seemed mad with want and desire, there was a small nagging voice at the back of his head that said that John was not enough.

He slipped one of Paul's fingers into his mouth again, and nothing would have prepared for the strangled sound Paul made.

It went straight into his dick and he breathed in sharply through his nose before sucking the digit more in, flicking his tongue around it. For a moment he imagined it to be something _else_ , and his mind seemed to go totally blank.

The memory of Paul's spunk in his fingers hit the back of his head like a truck and his whole body shuddered.

Ah.

He wanted to _blow_ Paul. He knew that he, with 100 per cent certainty, wanted to blow Paul.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the tiny voice whispered that Paul probably would either run away and never come back, or then would have absolutely no problems at all.

When he took a hold of Paul's wrist and started bopping his head up and down on Paul's finger, he doubted that Paul would have minded if it was his dick instead.

The sounds the lad made suggested that John was, at least once in his life, absolutely right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next week, hopefully! Also, I'm so glad John _finally_ realised at least _something_. (I'm giving him a standing ovation here)


	3. George Not Present, Probably Still Behind Everything

Paul felt like he was walking on clouds. On very puffy, pink, sparkly clouds. That's how Tuesday felt. He passed the whole day in the middle of rainbows, humming Titanic's soundtrack and walking into walls. His co-workers looked at him amusedly while he mixed up rice and potatoes in the backroom. 

Someone had asked in the morning what the reason was behind Paul's absent-mindedness. And he had said in a dreamy voice to a snickering crowd that he had the best. Boyfriend. Ever. 

He had the best. Boyfriend. EVER. 

He felt like screaming out loud. John's mouth! What the man could do with his mouth!! Sure, he had only sucked Paul's fingers and his chest and kept it above the navel, but his _fucking_ sKILLS! He felt like bursting, felt like throwing his clothes off and running into the sunset while yelling that he had the best boyfriend ever. 

He _needed_ to share this with someone. He was currently sitting in a café where he had dragged himself after work, knowing that John wouldn't be home in hours (and when he was, Paul would be there waiting for him with the longest kiss of them all). Just screaming about it inside his mind didn't seem to be enough. He was in _flames_ and he _needed_. MORE. 

  


Okay, maybe sending a text message to his ex-girlfriend was not the best way in the world to handle this. But it felt like there were ants itching under his skin, making him squirm and yell. Mentally. 

His phone let out a ping and he lifted the screen in front of his face, secretly feeling like he wanted to shake his whole body and squeal forcefully. He supposed that this was how teenagers felt after their first kiss. 

  


He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut before reopening them and typing quickly the answer. 

  


He giggled at the phone and held it tightly, letting his head fall against his biceps. He tapped his feet against the café floor and thought about how John had looked when his head had moved up and down, how he had sucked _so_ hard and how his _tongue_ had- 

  


Paul chuckled and shook his head fondly. 

"I can always trust you, Jane," he muttered to himself and kissed the screen before answering. 

Paul laughed and pressed the phone down on the table for a second before lifting it up again and continuing, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. 

Paul sighed and pressed his forehead against the table for a moment. Then he straightened himself and glanced at the empty tea cup in front of him, thinking sadly that this was where all his money went to. Expensive, tasteless tea. 

His phone let out a ping again and he glanced at the screen, thinking that Jane had answered, but the device showed her still typing. 

He swiped to get to the message board. There was one message from George from three weeks ago that he had not opened yet; the beginning line that he could see was _'ringoxdildos is my new otp...'_ and he had not dared to look at the message. He preferred to keep the remnants of his pure mind. Then there was one new, from John. 

He quickly opened the chat with a smile already forming on his lips and then started chuckling, feeling ridiculously happy. 

  


He shook his head fondly and sighed, unable to wipe the smile from his face. 

He sent the answer and at that moment, Jane sent him a message. 

He navigated back to Jane and tried to keep himself from laughing out loud. 

  


Paul prepared himself mentally and started typing, swallowing. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to tell Jane _everything,_  but he just... he just had to share it, okay??? 

  


Just as he was sending the message there was an answer from John and he quickly sent the message and switched screens to John's name, soon snickering to himself. 

He sent the answer and then stayed in John's messages, finding him much more interesting than his ex-girlfriend. John was already writing back when the phone suddenly informed him of an incoming call. 

He sighed and lifted the iPhone to his ear, rolling his eyes as he answered the call. 

"Hi Jane," he said and heard some sort of a squealing sound on the other end of the call. Jane was a bubbly persona, kind and independent. Paul had fallen for all those traits; and after their relationship had come to an end with a mutual agreement, she had remained a friend, because life was too short for fighting with a person you loved. 

 _"James Paul MCCARTNEY,"_ Jane all but yelled into his ear and he let out a strangled, high note that came from deep in his throat. _"This isn't the kind of stuff to discuss over_ ** _texts_** _!"_  

"I actually think that this is the kind of stuff I would _never_ say out loud in a phone," Paul breathed, speaking quietly and glancing around him. He didn't want anyone to hear him talking, if possible. 

 _"You can't just send me a message like that and think that I wouldn't call!!"_  

"This is exactly why I never tell you anything," Paul muttered and Jane huffed with passion. 

 _"I heard about you and John_ ** _months_** _after you got together! How is that fair?!"_  

"Talking about this to an ex is already embarrassing enough." 

 _"Then why'd you text me in the first place?"_  

"'Cos I _needed_ to talk about this and there aren't that many people that I could talk to about this," Paul sighed and rubbed the base of his nose. "Jane, his _mouth_ ," he then hissed and heard Jane let out a small sound that could be described as a shriek. 

 _"You want him to blow you?"_ she asked and Paul was reminded that Jane was an independent young woman who had grown up with a brother, and who did not have any qualms about being bold and frank. 

"I-I-h-hi-hi," he stuttered and Jane started laughing. 

 _"I find it incredibly amusing that only John makes you forget how to speak."_  

"Uh," Paul said, "certainly I did that with you as well?" 

 _"No, no, you didn't. I'm pretty sure all that brilliant sex with him has melted half of your brain."_  

By now she was giggling uncontrollably and Paul felt his face flush. His heartbeat accelerated and he squirmed on his seat. 

"I- Jane, that's not really-" 

 _"Well, my point stands, he made you forget English language. C'mon Paul, you even got kicked out of the Uni."_  

"Well, that was because I didn't do any work," Paul mumbled and heard Jane hum sarcastically. 

 _"Because John appeared."_  

Paul couldn't really argue with that, so he only shrugged his shoulders and let his head hang low. Jane probably felt that she had scored a point, because she continued without mercy. 

 _"You want his mouth on your_ ** _dick_** _,"_ she stated and Paul shuddered violently, his eyes snapping wide open. 

" _Jane_ ," he hissed and tried to banish the image from his head. But the picture of John on his knees on the bed, hovering over him, his lips wrapped around- _around_ \- around _it_ - 

"Aaaaaaaaa _aaaah_ ," he moaned into the phone and let his head fall against the table, feeling his lower belly twist into knots. Jane, the bastard, was laughing freely. 

 _"Yeah, you_ ** _do_** _. Paul, listen honey, I can't really help you with that."_  

"I know," he groaned and rocked his head from left to right, keeping his head against the table. "I feel like I'm fucking _bursting_." 

 _"I've always loved how you lose control,"_ Jane's chuckle was darker than what Paul would have preferred and he shivered. 

"Jane, you know, there are things that ex-girlfriends should never say," he said in a feeble voice and Jane, apparently, started nearing hysterics. 

 _"Why did you send me a message in the first place??"_ she demanded, her voice sounding out of breath. Paul wondered where she was. Probably on her own place, or at least he hoped so, with her using such foul language all the time. 

"I don't fucking know, okay?" he sighed. "I'm just- there are so many things I'd _love_ to do with John, but I... I got no courage." 

 _"Bullshit. You're one randy guy with the ever-permanent erection. How could it be so hard to talk to him about how you want to fuck his mouth?"_ Jane asked cheerfully. Paul's whole body jerked. 

"Jaaane," he said in an alarmed tone, looking around himself quickly. No one appeared to be paying attention to him; he knew his face was becoming red all over, and that there would be clear signs of arousal in his body language (and face) if someone knew to look for them. "I hardly have... that." 

 _"John's made you old,"_ Jane giggled and Paul now violently blushed, squeezing his free hand into a fist. Calling Jane had been the worst idea ever. 

Wait. He hadn't even called. _Answering_ the call from Jane had been the worst idea ever. 

"There are lots of other things to think about," he muttered, kicking his feet in the air absentmindedly. "I don't wanna make John stress about this as well." 

Jane let out a surprisingly gentle sound, and Paul could hear her sit down on her sofa that was made of leather and always let out farting sounds when you sat on it. 

 _"Say, it was him sucking on your fingers, right?"_ she asked and Paul was caught in the reverie of last night before Jane cleared her throat and he jumped a bit. 

"Yeah, uh, yeah," he swallowed, feeling goosebumps break out on his skin. That was not good. 

 _"Well, then, maybe it was his way of telling that he wanted to do more as well,"_ Jane's voice was reasoning and Paul stopped dead in his tracks. 

"Would he do that?" he held his breath and heard Jane let out a "well, what do you know" -kind of a sound. 

 _"I don't know? If he does it again, or otherwise seems to be going down, you should probably encourage him."_  

"How on Earth do I do that???" Paul stood up, deciding that he had been rotting in this café for too long a time, and besides, he would have to start moving if he wanted to be at the flat welcoming John. 

 _"The same way you would with a girl? I don't know, Paul, I'm not gay."_  

"Being gay probably doesn't have anything to do with this," Paul muttered as he stepped out and took a deep breath of fresh, polluted London air. There was no snow at the moment, even though it was already December. Paul supposed it would come later, if it came at all. Sometimes there were years where it only rained. He certainly preferred snow. 

"How do I encourage a girl? Jane, I haven't had to think about girls in a year. I don't know how to have sex with a lass anymore," he said and heard Jane laugh. 

 _"'Oh darling',"_ she made her voice sound like a macho man was talking and Paul suppressed a laugh, _"'I love the way you skillfully would probably go down on me. Please do.'"_  

"I'm pretty sure John would leave me there and then if I said that," Paul deadpanned and Jane chortled. Paul could imagine her shrugging with that carefree way of hers, her red hair falling about her face like crimson waterfalls. 

 _"That'll be his problem, then."_  

"Jane, love," Paul sighed and shook his head, an amused glint in his eyes. "I am pretty sure it'd be also my problem." 

 _"Well, too bad? You'll just have to grab your arse, Paul, and talk with him."_  

Paul breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling anguished, terrified and weirdly excited at the same time. 

"I'd rather grab my dick and shove it down his throat," he mumbled and the momentarily shocked silence from Jane before her uncontrollable laughter made him feel victorious. Jane had won round one, and maybe the second one as well, but Paul would win the game. 

***~**~***

After the phone call Paul had slowly dragged himself back to the flat. He felt exhausted for some reason; Jane had always managed to make him extremely tired, no matter what way. After being handled by her, Paul always felt like falling face down on the bed. 

He threw his jacket off and left his shoes into a pile of other shoes that might have been his, might have been someone else's (he and George had the same size -and also similar-looking shoes, which made Paul sometimes unsure if he actually had _his_ pair on). There seemed to be no one at the flat, except for Creature who walked slowly into the hallway, meowing as a greeting. 

"Hi girl," Paul grinned at her as she jumped on top of the chest of drawers and knocked down the photo of George's mum. Paul kneeled down to pick it up with a soft chuckle, and that was when the front door opened. 

He turned his head, still kneeling on the floor. Creature meowed again, a bit louder this time, and there was a very-well recognisable huff as the incomer battled with his scarf. 

"Oh. Hi Paul?" John tilted his head as he had managed to yank the scarf away from his neck, leaving his hair sticking out to every direction. His cheeks were glowing with a rosy colour and he seemed to be out of breath. Paul admired the view and the earlier discussion with Jane came up in his mind. 

 ** _"You can't know these things if you don't talk about them. I don't understand how it's so hard for you men."_**  

 _"Not all men, Jane dear."_  

 ** _"Stop your pointless mumbling and talk to him!"_**  

 _"Hah. Maybe when_ ** _cows_** _fly, honey pie."_  

 ** _"And STOP IT with the names!"_**  

 _"But sugar cake!"_  

 ** _"Poof."_**  

That was the one thing that Paul questioned about himself. Why was it so _hard_ to talk about what he wanted, how he felt? Seeing John there now, looking all too dishevelled, raw and _hot_ for Paul's liking did nothing good for his lower abdomen. 

 _'Fuck it, I'm in the heat all the time in these days,'_ he muttered mentally to himself, stood up, placed Louise's photo on the chest of drawers and then threw himself at John. 

They stumbled together until John's back hit the front door and the lad let out a gasp, his eyes wide and a slightly bewildered expression on his face. Paul, however, smashed their mouths together rather unceremoniously and grabbed a hold of John's head while he was going at it. 

To put it shortly, he ravished John's mouth until the worst knot of flaming want in his stomach opened and then pulled back with a beaming smile. 

"Welcome home!" he said with a cheerful voice and John, for his part, looked absolutely _breathless_. The man sank against the door slightly, his hands finding Paul for support. 

"Whatever I have done to please you this much?" he then swallowed, blinking his suddenly heavy-looking eyes (Paul felt pleased with himself). "Just say it, so that I can do it _every day_ and mark this down as a recurring event into my agenda." 

Paul laughed and let himself fall against John softly, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders. Paul _loved_ the way John felt. Girls had always been so small when hugging and Paul had -even if it was not the case- always felt like he was the protective one, the one that had to be there for support. John was _big_ , as tall as Paul, and he was soft. There was no disturbing bone sticking out to Paul's side, and even if girls could be very, _very_ soft, they just could not rival the warmth and the security Paul got from hugging John. He did not have to be the protective one here -neither of them had anything to prove. 

"I just love you so much," Paul chuckled and heard John snort. 

"Right, then I'll just have to make you love me more every day." 

Paul laughed and disentangled himself from the other man, taking a hold of his hands instead. 

"So," he grinned, "your phone." 

John grimaced and pulled his hands away from Paul's, only to take a hold of this wrists. He started (subtly) leading them towards the bedroom. 

"You never responded to my text." 

"Jane called," Paul sighed and John pulled a face. Paul laughed and pushed John forward, so that they could get into the room faster. "And then I got home and Creature knocked off Louise." 

"So that's why you were on the floor," John grinned with one side of his mouth and Paul couldn't help but lean in and kiss him again, now pushing him towards the bedroom with hurry. 

They were soon in the middle of a heated snogging session on their bed where Paul did his best to show John just how much he loved the man. He was just about to show John's collarbone how much he loved it when John gasped out with a strangled voice, 

"How's Jane doing?" 

Paul lifted his head and looked at John with a pissed expression. John rolled his eyes and started mumbling 'sorry, sorry' almost immediately. 

"Don't ever bring Jane up in bed, please," Paul shuddered. "Actually, don't ever bring up _any_ girls in bed, _please_. I'm past that." 

John choked with laughter and sat up, coming after Paul's mouth. They kissed for some time more and Paul tried to stop thinking about the way John's dick was pressed against his butt. Then John pulled away from him and lifted his eyebrows. Paul sighed. 

"She's fine. She's-" he paused and his brain turned in a way that reminded him of a tricky maths problem. 

He could- he could use this as an opening. As a way of getting to know what John thought of... of _giving head_. Or maybe Paul would have to do it first? But what if John was disgusted by it? 

For the sexually active young man that Paul was, he sure found it difficult to actually _have_ sex. 

"She's wondering," he started slowly, maybe a bit too slowly seeing as John frowned and started lowering himself back to a laying position. Paul tried to look nonchalant, but his heart was racing like mad. "She's wondering about this... uh, you see, her boyfriend... I mean, um, it's a guy she spends time with... like that, y'know, and-" 

John looked now utterly puzzled and Paul felt like squirming uncomfortably. That brought to his mind that he was currently sitting right on John's (quite) hard crotch area and _that,_ if something, turned him on. 

"She wants to give head," he spluttered, his breathing turning erratic. John looked confused. "But she doesn't know- how to ask for it." 

John's eyebrows rose towards his hairline and Paul could not help but buck slightly on top of John's dick. John let out a muffled noise from his mouth, his eyes glazing over momentarily before he sucked in his breath, and Paul _continued moving_. He rubbed his arse against John's crotch and nothing, _nothing_ had been as intense before. Paul could just imagine how it would be without the clothes on the way. He bit his lip to stop a moan that would have escaped otherwise. 

It was so good, but it wasn't _enough_.  

"What'd you say?" John wasn't so shy about his moans; Paul could swear his boyfriend was just _this_ far from actually yelling at Paul for being such a tease. 

Paul rolled his hips and emitted a soft groan from John. Probably because his dick was currently squished. It could not be very comfortable. 

"I-" he gasped and let himself fall forward, his mouth finding John's earlobe. "I said usually- usually guys wouldn't mind getting a blowjob. At least I -I _wouldn't_." 

There. He _said_ it. He actually SAID it. It was totally another thing, then, whether John understood him or not. 

For a moment it seemed like John didn't register his words; his hands settled on Paul's hips and Paul let out a groan right against the man's ear, grinding his arse down, wanting _so_ much _more_. John's own legs bucked up and Paul searched for the other's mouth, doing his best to violate John's right to breathe. 

And then he was flipped down on the bed and John was hovering above him, his eyes dark and heavy, glistening with something that Paul couldn't read. He shuddered at the smouldering gaze and cold shivers ran down his spine as John leant closer, tilting his head curiously. 

"Are you telling me, my dear, that she's never blown _anyone_?" 

Paul swallowed and laughed nervously, tried to shrug but failed because of the position. 

"Well, you- you know how things go sometimes-" 

John burst out laughing, falling on top of Paul with helpless giggling and snorting. Paul rolled his eyes and tapped at John's shoulder, rather annoyed that the man was taking his time laughing when he could as well use his mouth for _something else_. 

"You're hopeless," John laughed and got up on his knees again, took a hold of Paul's head and kissed him on the mouth gently. "Christ, my life was so humourless without you." 

"You've mentioned that a few times," Paul commented dryly and John laughed again. Paul feared that all the blood from his dick would go into his... laughing system, or whatever that was. He slapped at the back of John's head, putting on his best bitchy face. 

"John, darling, _weren't we doing something_ ," he said and John paused. All the laughter in him seemed to disappear and then. He.  

Then he glanced down. 

Paul felt like grabbing a hold of the man’s head and pushing it forcefully between his legs, but he doubted that John would ever forgive that. Nor would he himself, because this was something that they needed to do _slowly_. 

If there even was _going_ to be _something_. 

John lifted his eyes again, holding Paul's gaze with a burning look in his own. Paul swallowed and wrapped his hands around John's neck, lifting his eyebrows. He was starting to get nervous with John staring at him like _that_. 

"Paul-" John then started, and Paul prepared himself for the worst; _No, this isn't what I want. No, you have totally mistaken my intentions. No, you have an absolutely wrong idea of the whole picture. No, I am actually your third cousin removed and this is incest._  

"Get off your clothes." 

Uh. He hadn't waited for _that_ one. 

"Eh??" he looked totally bewildered and John started snickering, seemingly close to another hysteric fit. 

"We lie in bed, intimate and hot, lips red from kissing, and as I ask him to take off his clothes he looks like the thought has never even _occurred_ to him-" 

"Okay, shut up, shut up," Paul grumbled and pushed John off from him, sitting up and starting to wrestle with his shirt. It would soon add a new wave into the Sea. ( _The Sea!!!!_ shouted the chorus dramatically) He could hear John cackling to himself as the man was just looking at him. Paul was getting mad. 

He turned his head as he had got rid of his shirt and glared at his boyfriend with murderous eyes. 

"John, if you ruin this I am going to _ruin_ you." 

John laughed and shook his head, reaching out his hands and placing them on Paul's shoulders. He started massaging with smooth, relaxing motions and Paul let out a sigh. John was a dick who would not even let him be mad in peace. 

"I had the thoughts of ruining _you_ ," John mumbled and leant forward, his breath ghosting against Paul's ear. Paul felt a shudder in his spine and became aware again of that hard thing between his legs that people usually call a penis, but some call a meat thermometer. And some call it The Destroyer. In Liverpool everyone called it Chewbacca. Paul was losing thE POINT. 

"Not a _chance_ ," he shot back and John laughed freely, a warm breeze against Paul's skin. He shuddered again and felt his blood levels rising. This had to _STOP_!!! 

"John, I swear to God," he said in a strangled voice and turned his head, trying to get away from John. "I'm angry." 

"You downright sound like you are," John said cheerfully and wrapped his arms around Paul's chest, keeping him in place as his mouth touched Paul's shoulder in a feathery touch. Paul let out a soft moan without being able to help himself, and jerked under John's lips. _Why_ did the man have such a _mouth???!?_  

"C'mon," John said coaxingly then. "Come back to beeeed." 

Paul threw him a hateful glance. 

"You always ruin everything," he said in a sulky voice and John started giggling. 

Paul was just about to do something rather violent that consisted of a quick plan of Kicking Arse™ and Fucking Up The Cunt™, when John's hands travelled lower and grabbed Paul's dick through his trousers. 

He let out a moan that could probably be heard all the way to Liverpool and his violent plan suddenly changed into violent kissing. He threw his arms around John and pushed the man down on the bed, climbing on top of him. It was frustrating how the older man was still wearing his clothes, and Paul tugged at them furiously. 

" _Get them off_ ," he growled and John laughed lightly. 

"Where's all the fun in that?" he raised an eyebrow, threw Paul off of him, and then with swift, expert movements opened Paul's jeans and pulled them down. 

Paul did not even know why he was struggling. Wasn't this what he wanted? But maybe it was just John's smug, traitorous face that made him want to _get away._  

But then everything seemed to stop. 

His jeans were lying somewhere by now; and his underwear had went with them. John's hands were against Paul's thighs, and he was sitting up and staring. 

At Paul's dick. 

Now, Paul would have probably been self-conscious, but the way John _stared_ at him made him utterly speechless. 

He had last seen that kind of lust in the man's eyes when there had been an incident of Chocolate Discount On Payday. 

"John-" he started, but the sound got stuck in his throat. He saw John swallow, and then, slowly, _painfully_ , the man wetted his lips. 

Paul almost screamed right there and then. 

"You wouldn't-" John started then, his voice full of something that Paul could not place; Hesitation? "You wouldn't. Mind a blowjob." 

Paul's breath hitched and _John on his knees, Paul against the bedroom door, Paul's dick going in and out of John's mouth, the man's lips red and his jaw covered with precum and saliva-_  

"No!" he yelled from the top of his lungs, his face turning into a flaming red. His cock jumped and Paul felt like _dying_ from embarrassment. John lifted his eyebrows, looking momentarily confused. 

"You wouldn't, or was that that you in no ways _want-_ " John started, but Paul waved his hands in the air fervently and shook his head.  

"No! I wouldn't! I mean, I want! I do! I!" he ended up just lying still on the bed, panting, feeling his whole body shudder with want. If John didn't get on the job soon _something_ would snap and Paul would make _sure_ that it was John's _dick._  

He had thought that John would probably start laughing, shaking his head at him with a fond but annoying smile, muttering "I don't get you sometimes", but instead the man sat up on his knees, his face full of nerves, his posture tense. Paul raised an eyebrow.  

"I, uh," John started and Paul couldn't _believe_ he had lived to see the day when John Lennon forgot the English vocabulary, "I wouldn't- I know we talked about this a year back but- I mean, it's changed right?" he was fidgeting now and Paul's heartbeat picked up; was it possible that John was- 

"I mean, I wouldn't mind giving one," John breathed, the words stumbling out with a shaky voice, "if you don't... mind." 

Paul stared at him quietly, not knowing if he should just yell "YES, JUST GET ON WITH IT", or take a more careful way of approaching this. 

He swallowed and blinked, and then slowly he shook his head. 

"I wouldn't," he said, his breath catching in his throat. 

And then John's lips pressed against his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, BEFORE YOU KILL ME, KNOW THAT I'M SORRY ABOUT THE CLIFFHANGER. don't kill me.
> 
> But well, see you next week!!!! **Have a nice week, _waiting_**


	4. George Is Always Present.

The kiss Paul received was deep and scorching, and he moaned into John's mouth. Bringing his hands up he cradled the man's face gently, the kiss turning into smaller pecks.

"You absolutely- are you _absolutely_ sure?" John asked, sounding breathless. Paul fought a giggle.

"Mate, you think I'd say no to a... to _it_??" he shot back, but unable to actually say it out loud. He would have to get over his initial shyness about these things if he ever wanted to get far in his life.

John's hands pressed against his naked sides and he wished that John would have taken his clothes off, too. Still, the feeling of jeans scraping against his skin was rather maddening and he started slowly rubbing himself against the other man, as a groan escaped his lips.

"Paul, you said 'no' to _kissing,_ at first." John's lips widened into a small and very, _very_ nervous smile.

Paul kissed it away, and then pulled John's head up, looked at him in the eye and said in a voice that more resembled a growl,

"Then _what_ was that time in the _loo?"_

John chuckled, but it was cut short. His hands trembled a bit.

Ah. Paul _got_ it.

John was nervous _as hell_.

"John-" he started, but John shook his head.

"If you say bloody anything, I'm gonna take you right now out of this room, tie you on George's bed and follow the consequences with joy."

"That's just so wrong," Paul muttered as John flashed him a smile and lowered his head, his lips meeting Paul's collarbone in a feathery touch.

His fingers ran up and down Paul's body, ghosting over his thighs, coming up to his chest. He spread them there and pressed them against Paul's biceps, and Paul felt like burning when they held him down as John moved lower. The man's tongue flicked over Paul's nipple and he moaned, a shudder breaking through his skin. He felt his arm hair stand up and his legs jerked, the rough fabric of John's turtleneck brushing against his erection.

Paul would have loved to hold John, to grab a hold of the man, but he knew that he would have to let John do this in his own way. And Paul would have to take this slowly as well, because he was jUST about to get a BLOWJOB from his boYFRIEND for the fiRST TI _ME!!!?!??!_

"For the love of God, Paul," John muttered against his chest, almost only to himself, "your skin tastes _so good_."

As to emphasise this, he wrapped his lips around Paul's left nipple and sucked gently, a string of white hotness shooting straight from there down to Paul's cock. He squirmed, starting to pant, but John's hold of his arms was strong and there was no way he could have really moved under the older man's weight. And for the sake of all the sinful things that existed in the world, Paul _never_ wanted to. He could die here and be _happy_. John was heavy; John was safe, an anchor that let Paul hold onto the pleasure without the fear of losing himself. Or losing John.

"Joo _ooohn_ ," he moaned and felt John smile around his nipple, the man’s hold of his arms tightening. Then, slowly and cautiously, John moved downwards, his tongue trailing along Paul's abdomen.

The skin there had been covered by John's body; the cool air hit it and Paul shivered, but the light, wet touch of John's tongue made him _shake_. It was going to places where it had never gone before; and even if Paul recognised that John was an expert at this, at getting into a _girl_ 's knickers... it was a totally another thing how to get into Paul's.

Well. If he only wore knickers, that was.

John pressed an open-mouthed kiss on Paul's navel, humming to himself and sounding rather pleased. Paul was starting to get covered in sweat; he felt damp and wet, and his dick was aching. He wanted to shift his feet, or jerk, or _move_ , but he forced himself to stay still. John's hands started trailing down his arms, taking a hold of his hands.

Paul could feel John's fingers shaking slightly.

And then, a moment's pause as the feeling of John's mouth disappeared. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, his whole body feeling electric and loaded with want. He wanted to say goodbye to hesitation, but it was still there as a small dot inside his mind. What if it wasn't good? What if John hated it? What if Paul had to live the rest of his live wondering how it would feel? What if- what if _John_ couldn't find real pleasure in doing it? Paul could never force him-

The dot of hesitation was destroyed at the first lick.

Paul shuddered all over, his fingers squeezing John's own tightly, desperately. He tried not to make a sound, but a strangled sound that might have been John's name escaped him nevertheless. His hips bucked upwards and John's elbows pressed against his thighs, keeping them down.

Paul opened his eyes and looked down, and never, ever had he regretted anything less than it.

John was lying between his legs; still with his clothes on. His eyes were dark, his skin glistening with sweat. He was holding Paul's hands in a death grip, for mental support as much as for keeping contact with him. And Paul could not look at John's face without seeing his own dick looming in front of it, erect and proud.

John held his gaze, swallowed, moved forward, testing, and licked at Paul again.

Paul wanted to thrash about, to scream at John for being a tease, to hold him close and never let go, but what came into his mind before all those was a thought that he blurted out without thinking.

"You got your meat lollipop."

That was all it required to have John succumb into a laughter fit, the man burying his head against Paul's thighs, shaking with mirth.

Paul was going to _ruin_ him.

" _John_!" he all but yelled, and John's laughter increased.

"You shouldn't have said _anything!"_ the man shouted back and Paul felt blush creep up to his face, stinging stubbornly onto his cheeks. He tried to kick John in the guts, but couldn't really move his legs.

"Well what would you do??" he snapped, moments away from becoming angry again. John looked at him, looked at his (Very™) erect penis, swallowed one time and then his face reached the most blinding grin ever known to human kind.

"I'd do this," he said cheerfully, leant down, and pressed his lips against Paul's tip.

Paul yelled and forgot who he was.

"You _cunt_ !" he shouted almost from the top of his lungs and could feel John's lips trembling against _him,_ against... _it,_ as the man tried to hold his laughter. His hands let go of Paul's and moved down to take a hold of Paul's sides, once again that strong hold keeping him from moving.

John did another long lick and then tried a bit at the head, swiping the precum from the tip with his tongue. If Paul hadn't been seeing stars at that point, he would have felt a bit uncomfortable with the thought that John was apparently handling his dick like it _was_ a meat lollipop. Although meat lollipops could easily be _disgusting_. Yuck. (Meat in a lollipop? Seriously?)

Then, slowly and meticulously, John moved his right hand to Paul's cock, took a hold of the base, and lifted it just slightly so that he could wrap his mouth around it.

The knot in Paul's stomach increased, and he felt strangely like vomiting. It was like the pleasure was getting _too_ much, there was _too much_ of it-

John spit on him for a few times with a concentrated frown, and then pulled Paul back into his mouth with a hum. His mouth was wet and hot, and as he cautiously moved his head up and down for a few times there was soon saliva running down Paul's dick, making him shiver. He did not know which was better; the way John was so much trying to ensure that the man was doing this right, or the way John's tongue flicked over his tip, nudged at it and explored every bit of skin that it could find. Paul let out a long groan, pulling up an arm over his eyes, feeling like he wanted to bite onto something just to avoid biting his _tongue_.

Then, just because he was a masochist, he glanced down at John and _never_ had he regretted _anything_ more than doing that.

John was looking up at him, his eyes dark and burning. Paul had seen quite a few pictures of situations like this in his lifetime, and had experienced it before as well, but this was- this was so. Much. _Worse_.

John looked at him, and as if to say "here we go" he winked, wearing a wicked smile, and with a deep breath swallowed Paul as deep as he could.

Paul cried out and his hips jerked, his back arching, feeling John's throat close around him as the man gagged slightly. John's hands were immediately holding his hips, pressing them down as the lad pulled back up, inhaled again and dove right back in. Paul looked at him, his expression broken, biting his lip. He would never be able to walk with a clear mind again if this scene was to play in his head for the rest of his life. And it fucking _would_.

"Will you-" John cursed and pulled up again, his chin glistening with saliva, his eyes wild and cheeks red, "-fucking- hold _still_??"

"S-sorry," Paul shivered all over, staring at the man he loved, his eyes heavy and vision blurred. "I- Bugger, John, don't _stop_."

John seemed pleased with himself, smiling that smug smile again, and then got back on the task, his drool wetting Paul's dick all over. Paul's back arched from the bed and he wanted to squirm, to roll around, and especially to _always_ have John blowing him. This was a thing he could become addicted to.

When John, eventually, _devilishly_ started bobbing his head up and down, Paul right went and keened.

“Fucker!!!” he shouted, more feeling John chuckle around him than hearing it. He had been close before, but now he was _extremely_ so. His stomach felt like it was in flames; his hands and hips were jerking every now and then, and his skin glistened with sweat. Nothing, _nothing_ before had been as intense as this, and Paul loved _every_. _Fucking. Second._

He buried one of his hands into John's hair, wanting the contact. John hummed, his movements sloppy but _perfect_. Paul felt wet; the drool and the precum falling from John's mouth mixing together.

A moment of panic hit him when he felt the familiar signs of an orgasm. John would have to pull away before that happened, because there was NO way Paul was EVER going to let John SWALLOW it. That would be just- just _GAY_ -

(Then again, he had his dick in John's mouth. Had George been there he would have probably pointed that out. Funny how so many sex-related things in Paul's head were said in George's voice.)

“John,” he gasped, and pulling at John's hair was the most difficult thing ever, “John - _Jesus_ , mate, I'm-”

John got the cue, but he reacted too slowly, or Paul was too _fast_. The man could not make it out of the way and Paul was coming, like there was no end to it, a deep whine resonating in his throat as he twisted and then succumbed against the bed, feeling exhausted and utterly spent.

He lay down for a moment; unable to do anything, unable to really _understand_ what had just happened. And then he forced his head up, and there was a final, small jump of pleasure somewhere deep in him.

John was sitting upright; his face was smeared with Paul's spunk and his mouth was hanging open. His skin was flushed and he was completely out of breath, his expression looking dazed, eyes black and hazy. His chest was rising up and down with sharp, gasping breaths, and for a moment the whole man seemed to have frozen.

Paul wished he had any camera close by. John had _never_ looked as good as now.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen in his whole life.

As Paul watched John started testily moving his jaw. It seemed stiff and Paul felt a pang of sympathy.

“Urgh,” the older man then said, brought a hand to his eyes and tried to swipe the creamy stuff away from them. “Well, shit happens.”

His voice sounded rough and Paul could imagine it tearing through saliva and precum that currently resided in John's throat. His dick _almost_ jumped at that thought.

“Yeah,” he rasped, out of breath and out of any good things to say. His brain was mushed.

Some part of his mind registered the fact that John had not come yet. He would have to- he would have to _move_ -

“Christ, my jaw's really bloody sore,” John muttered and blinked his left eye open, narrowing it and apparently trying to focus it on something. It came to rest on Paul and John exhaled lightly.

“Y-yeah,” Paul said again, because he could not think of anything better to say. His chest rose up and down, his heart beating still rather fast.

John pulled off his shirt, rubbed his face in it and then threw the cloth away.

“Shit, you have _no_ idea how you _look_ ,” he muttered, his voice tight, and then he moved and was kissing Paul, deeply.

Paul had no regrets in life. Even though John still tasted like him. It wasn't as disgusting as he had thought it would, though.

“Thanks, you're not too bad either,” he mumbled against John's lips, and the older man laughed hoarsely into his mouth, kissing him over and over again.

“Was not too awful,” he answered, and they both broke into giggles after a short moment of silence.

***~**~***

It was clear from the start of the day that John's mind was elsewhere. His gaze would drift off into space, his eyes quite strongly glazed over. He forgot where the battery shelf was for three times, and mistook electric cables for headphone wires. After he had almost given a customer a change of 20 pounds too much, Jeff took him by the shoulders and pushed him into the backroom, declaring that it was time for John's lunch pause. Stuart went to look at him every now and then, hovering in the doorway with Jeff at his shoulder.

The lad did nothing else but sit and stare at a wall with that same spaced-out expression. Every now and then John would bring a hand to his jaw and move it around, like it was stiff for some reason.

Stuart really did not want to know after having realised that fact.

“Do you think-” Jeff started with excited, starry eyes, but Stuart was not going to have any of it.

“I don't know, I don't care,” Stuart said quickly and walked over to the cash register, waving his hands in the air dismissingly. Jeff closed the door and started snickering.

“They did, didn't they,” he sounded way too giddy and Stuart decided to not listen to their boss.

“I'm gonna ask,” he heard Jeff state. The door opened again.

“Hey-!” Stuart started with an alarmed shout and scrambled behind Jeff, trying to stop Jeff from saying anything _very_ stupid to John, who really seemed to be… somewhere else.

“John!” Jeff called happily and John turned his head slowly, blinking a few times.

“Yeah?” he asked, and Stuart noted now that his voice was pretty roughed-up. A bit like he'd have a sore… _throat…_

“I DON'T WANNA KNOW!!” Stuart yelled and rushed out of the room, leaving behind an amused Jeff and a truly, deeply confused John.

“What doesn't he wanna know?” John asked slowly and turned his head towards Jeff, who now had a rather scary glint in his eyes.

“Is your throat sore?” Jeff shot back and John's eyes clouded over with apparent flashbacks of… _something_. His mouth opened slightly as the muscles in his jaw went lax and for a moment he held such a dazed expression that Jeff had an urge to take a photo and put it on the wall with a title, “the hardest working worker of the month”.

Then, John jumped a bit, blinked, and focused his gaze on Jeff again.

“...Yes,” he said, looking like he had had difficulties at remembering what Jeff had said just a moment ago. “Sore. Throat. Yes.”

He coughed and turned his head, his eyes landing on the wall opposite to him, and then he just started staring at it. Jeff crossed his arms over his chest, starting to giggle without being able to help himself.

“Okay,” he said through his snickers. “Are you ill? Do you wanna go home?”

Silence. Jeff's giggles got louder.

“John?”

“……...Huh..?” John looked at Jeff, looking like a train had just ran over him. Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“Are you ill? Feel like going home?” the man asked and John blinked.

And then he turned his face back towards the wall and remained quiet, his face soon becoming full of that… _euphoric_ blankness.

Jeff shrugged and headed to the door.

“Have a pause, then.”

Just as he was about to exit the room, he heard a quiet mumble behind himself.

“Paul's not home until five.”

The owner of the mechanic shop snickered as he went to check that the price in the TV cables was right. John might just have changed them around accidentally.

***~**~***

Paul was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed, a cloudy expression on his face. John had no clue how long his boyfriend had been there in the same position. Probably ever since he had come home.

John was feeling pretty light in his head and was rather knackered. He had almost walked into a pole several times; he had also missed his stop in the underground that made his journey thirty minutes longer.

He threw his bag on the side of the wall, climbed on the bed and, closing in on all fours, was kissing Paul before the younger man had any chance of reacting.

Well. He'd had many. He just hadn't taken them.

Paul let out a gasp and automatically his hands came to hold John's head gently. He tilted his head to give John better access, sighing contently against the man's mouth.

John sat back on his heels when the small spot in his heart that he identified as “the Paul kissing meter” was full, happy and warm.

“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “I missed you.”

Paul smiled at him toothily and leant in to peck him on the lips once more.

“I couldn't concentrate on anything,” he grimaced and John started laughing.

“You, too?”

They laughed at each other. Then Paul's cheeks flushed into a lovely rosy colour. John smiled a wicked smile.

“What?” he asked and raised an eyebrow. Paul bit his lip.

“I've just been wondering how you'd- how you'd get it so _good_ ,” he said, his voice coming out with an exhale and the last word was uttered as a hoarse whisper. John swallowed. He didn't understand how Paul could make his insides twist with only his _voice_ sounding like _that_. He almost wanted to jump into the man's bones immediately. Almost.

Yesterday had been, well, _gear_ . John hadn't been sure what to expect , and hadn't been sure about the whole thing at all. But after trying it a bit and nearly having had a nervous breakdown several times, and after Paul made the comment about the lollipop, he had just decided that what the hell. He wanted it, Paul wanted it, and if giving head wasn't nice there wouldn't be _so_ many positive comments about doing it online.

Now, as far as John's feelings went, he was fine with blowing Paul as many times as the man wanted. There was no describing the way Paul had looked afterwards, and John _never_ wanted to let go of _that_.

“Uh, I've been doing research,” he scratched his cheek. “There's Google, right?”

Paul's all thoughts seemed to stop, his eyes widening and his face suddenly paling. John was confused.

“Paul?” he asked. Paul seemed to be having a sudden internal crisis, if John read the signs right. (He did.)

“Yes,” Paul said slowly, starting to rock himself back and forth with minimalistic movements. “ _Shit_. There was _Google_.”

“Er,” John frowned. “Have you forgotten that there was Goo-”

“How can I live this down?!?!??” Paul yelled straight into his face, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him all over. John's mouth fell slightly open.

“W-W- _What_???” he gasped through the violent shakes. Paul let him go and stood up on the bed, throwing his hands towards the ceiling.

“HOW CAN I BE SO STUPID???!” he bellowed and John stared at him with wide eyes. Huh. This was something he had rarely seen.

(For those interested in the definition and the medical term of this condition, it is called _Paulus habet quiritatio magnus mirus hystericus,_ and it appears usually unexpectedly. The symptoms consist of either a pale or blushed face, a raised or shaky (or both) voice and a tendency to be overdramatic. Other typical aspects of this condition are shaking hands, wide eyes, and an inability to form understandable sentences. No cure for it is known, and usually _Paulus habet quiritatio magnus mirus hystericus_ either disappears in a short time, or changes into a less severe state. Long-term effects have not been recorded.)

"Um," he said carefully, hoping that Paul was not going to spend the rest of the evening with this. "That happens, from time to time?"

"You don't _UNDERSTAND_!!!" Paul screamed right at his face and John wanted to point out that no, he didn't. He agreed with Paul so bad at the moment.

"Er, love," John said a moment after when Paul had isolated himself into the corner of the bed (and that of the room as well), wrapped his arms around his knees and was now rocking himself back and forth, mumbling something to himself. "I don't know what's going on, but could we have the sex first, and then you can panic?"

Paul's whole spine seemed to freeze.

"S-sex?" he asked in a suddenly breathy voice and turned slowly to stare at John, his eyes holding a scary predatory look. John wasn't sure what kind of a monster had woken up last night, but... he _sure as hell_ wanted to _find out_.

"Yeah," he said, lifting his eyebrows. "I mean, I can't stop thinking about you, and it affects my work. If we have enough sex, I'd get used to it, and then I would not be craving for you all the time, and I could do my job."

Paul stared at him, his face flushing, and then he was laughing and falling down on the bed, holding his stomach.

"J- _Jesus_ ," he gasped, and oh, wasn't he a lovely sight. John grinned down at Paul, and the man rolled on his back, stared at John with laugh lines wonderfully visible.

"Okay," he then said, lifting his hands up towards John's head. John leant forward and let Paul pull him down for a spiderman kiss. "Let's have the sex first."

" _Now_ _**that's** _ _the spirit,_ " George shouted from outside the door and Paul let out a high-pitched scream that left John's ears ringing for days.

***~**~***

_'I have to get myself back together.'_ Paul buried his head into his hands momentarily, standing in the storage room of the grocery store. He couldn't believe he had been as stupid as to forget _Google_.

Why was it such a big thing? Well, he could have _not_ asked about _anal_ from _GEORGE_.

It was a _big thing_.

Paul didn't know how to ever live through this. Fortunately, John would probably never get to know. Or then, with Paul's luck, George would just spit it out accidentally at some point, and everything good in Paul's life would crumble.

Oh God. What if George was going to do just that? One never knew with the lad.

 _'Stop it,'_ Paul shook his head. _'He wouldn't do that.'_

He would just have to get a grip and face the consequences. The memory of John's lips around him were well worth some torment from George.

There was a buzz in his pocket and he reached for his phone, glanced at the new message. A smile formed on his lips and he quickly typed an answer, seeing John returning the text before giggling to himself and getting back to work.

***~**~***

George's walk was suspiciously bouncy, and his face was suspiciously happy. Ringo looked far too amused, and the two spent too much time in their room.

John was suspicious. Especially when George had stared at him eat a banana for _way. Too. Long._

He rummaged the room for any cameras again, with no luck. He was still suspicious.

George's smile was _too_ smug.

***~**~***

“I didn't think you had this in your mind when you invited me over,” Stuart said blankly as John drained water on top of a hissing frying pan. The black goo that was stuck to it had once probably been food and possibly also a black, plastic spatula.

John grimaced and shook his head, feeling defeated.

“It wasn't. But I forgot- I mean, I was talking to Paul on the phone and then you came and-”

“Yeah, you totally forgot,” Stuart's voice was slightly gleeful. “Look at the spatula! Look at it!”

“I'm _looking_ ,” John hissed, lifting the frying pan a bit and examining it from up close. “And I'm thinking of calling Paul to bring a new one right now.”

For his luck, Paul was probably still at the grocery store where he worked at. It was Friday, and the lad had called him earlier to inform that he was coming and picking up some food before that, and knowing Paul it would take some time. John quickly reached for his old Nokia while throwing the frying pan into the sink, fearing that they might need another one of those as well. He quickly dialled Paul by pressing the button number 2 (he loved the shortcuts -one of the perks in an old-fashioned phone) and placed the mobile between his shoulder and ear while returning to the sink, spraying some dishwasher on the pan.

” _Hello?”_

“Hi love,” John said and started rubbing at the black goo with the dish brush. “Are you still at the store?”

“ _Yeah, the pasta is for sale and I'm thinking of committing a sin.”_

“Don't take more than you can carry,” John commented and saw Stuart hide a smile by turning to look at the fridge. His expression soon turned confused as he read the notes on it, mainly the one in the middle.

“ _Of course not. Something you need?”_ There was rustle at the other end of the line and John deduced that Paul was cramming the shopping basket full of spaghetti.

“Yeah, there was a small accident. We may have lost the spatula.” He peered at the black goo and decided that he needed his glasses for this shit.

“ _What happened??”_ Paul sounded bewildered and John was about to say something like 'you happened', when Stuart lifted his face and the movement caught John's attention. He turned his head and found Stuart looking at him confusedly, pointing at the fridge and mouthing _'lube'_. John cracked a small smile just as his Nokia phone fell from his shoulder into the sink.

“Oh, oops,” he said calmly as Stuart's eyes widened in alarm and slight horror. He placed the frying pan on the counter and sloshed around in the dishwater before finding something that wasn't a knife, a fork or a plate.

“Got ye,” he continued in the same blank voice, picked the mobile up and dried it quickly into a hand towel before putting it back on his ear.

“Sorry, the phone fell into the dishwater.”

“ _Oh, okay,”_ Paul said, sounding like he was wondering something. _“Do you reckon we need more bread?”_

“I think George used the rest for some sort of twisted foreplay,” John took the frying pan back into his hand as the Nokia was safely against his shoulder again, and started scraping it with the upper side of the dish brush.

“ _Okay, I'll bring some… A new spatula, you said?”_

“Yeah, exactly.”

“ _There are red ones here. I'm gonna take a red one. There's a a plastic purple ladle with it in the same packet though.”_

John frowned and thought for a moment. He glanced at the old, black ladle that was currently soaking in a saucepan.

“Do we have money for it?” he asked. Stuart opened the fridge, took out a beer and raised his eyebrows at him. John nodded vaguely.

“ _I think so, yeah. I got some on me card.”_

“Great-o. See you soon then?”

“ _Definitely. Oh, and use the peas.”_

“Peas?” John lifted his head and eyed at the cupboards above his head.

“ _Yeah, they're going old. The peas.”_

“Those that I bought a year ago?” he asked with a confused voice. “I didn't think they'd be old yet-”

“ _They are. Use 'em. See you soon, love ye!”_

“You too, hun,” John answered and then Paul dialled off, leaving John staring at the cupboard with an expression that showed true betrayal.

“I thought the peas would be fine for at least three months more,” he said, pouting, and Stuart started chuckling.

“You guys are disgustingly sweet,” the lad stated and sat on top of the table, swinging his legs back and forth. John glared at him.

“But Stu. _Peas_. _Old._ ”

“I know, right? Unforgivable.”

John sighed and shook his head, deciding to abandon the frying pan for now. He opened the cupboard in front of him and fished the pea can out, checking the date. Paul was bloody right; they would go old pretty soon.

“I don't get it,” he muttered to himself as he started rummaging through the kitchen for another frying pan. “How could they go old.”

“That happens every now and then,” Stuart said cheerfully and John shook his head, defeated. There was no way arguing to that comment.

"But tell me," Stuart then said and frowned, looking traumatised, "how did you- why didn't you- how is your phone still- how can it still _work_??? It didn't even cut the call!!!" he exclaimed and John started snickering to himself.

"Mate," he said and lifted the Nokia phone, "I could throw this at a fucking _tank_ and _the tank_ would explode. After that I could just go and pick my phone up with no hurry."

Stuart's eyes widened.

"I thought Nokias where only a myth," he muttered to himself and John laughed out loud, waved his phone in the air.

"They're a living myth. This here's my first phone and it's still running."

Stuart looked impressed and like he would soon order one for himself as well. John turned back to the sink with a grin and pocketed his phone that had seen more life than current devices would ever experience.

Paul came home just as John had decided to declare the food ready. He had opted for rice with the peas and had put in some tomato sauce as well, hoping that it wouldn't be too bad. The sad truth was that John was the best cook in the house, which didn't mean a lot. He at least knew how to boil potatoes.

“Hello!” Paul called as he stepped into the kitchen, nodding at Stuart who was still sitting on the table. John turned to look at him and grinned as he wiped his hands quickly to the towel.

“Hi,” he greeted and Paul came close to give him a small peck on the lips before pulling back and presenting him with a spatula and a ladle.

“Only for you, my heart,” the younger man said, smiling widely. John laughed and took the kitchen utensils, putting them on the counter for now. He would mind them later.

“The food is ready, but I thought of showing the flat to Stu before eating,” he said. Paul, now putting the groceries into the fridge, nodded and glanced at him and Stuart.

“Yeah, sure. I'll just,” he paused and stared inside the shopping bag, seemingly lost in thought, “-put the spaghetti somewhere.”

“I'm sure there's space around if you look hard enough,” John answered with a grin and motioned Stuart to follow him. They walked into the living room and John smiled as Creature meowed at seeing him.

“Hi girl! So, Stu, here's the living room. Watch out for the carpet, I think something lives in it,” he then said, waving his hand around. Stuart looked slightly concerned.

“There's the balcony if you feel a need to smoke. Watch out though, it's a good place for George to attack you from behind,” John continued. Stuart looked slightly more concerned, but didn't say anything. John smiled jovially and led Stuart to the bathroom door.

“There's the bathroom. The lock is a bit of a tricky one -you gotta wrench it like this-” he demonstrated the act and wrenched the lock to its proper place to close the door, “-to close it properly. You might get closed in, though, so better be prepared for that. Getting out would probably mean sending nudes to George, if you had bad luck.”

Stuart looked concerned.

“And here's our room,” John opened the door to he and Paul's room, eyeing at the floor with suspicious eyes. “You want to avoid the Sea of Clothes,” he pointed at it and glanced at Stuart, who had a deep frown in his forehead. “We think something moves underneath it. So watch out. Also, the whole house is probably filled with spy cameras.”

“ _What_???” Stuart looked now certainly concerned and very, very bewildered as well. John nodded.

“Yeah, obviously. George lives here, doesn't he? I haven't found anything yet, but I'm pretty sure they exist.”

Stuart looked extremely concerned. John clapped him on the shoulder.

“Avoid George and the Sea of Clothes and you should be fine! And don't put your hand on the living room carpet. Better not disturb, well, the thing _s_ , whatever they are.”

“Uh,” Stuart nodded stiffly. “Am I to sleep on the sofa?”

“Yeah, well. You don't want in George's bed either and Paul tosses quite a lot during the night, so you'd be only uncomfortable in our bed,” John said cheerfully and Stuart nodded again, looking like he was having second thoughts about spending the night at the flat. John turned his attention towards the kitchen.

“ _Dinner_ ,” he said excitedly and dragged an empty looking Stuart with him, a huge grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many things to say about this chapter. But I will just say that I COMPLETELY, UTTERLY FEEL STUART. Also, George is now only getting worse. You have been warned. Also, I once almost melted my spatula while making food, so this is completely realistic. I have also washed a Nokia phone with my jeans and only the battery suffered a bit.
> 
> And watch out for the Sea (The Sea!!!!! said the chorus excitedly). Cheers. See you next week! ;D


	5. George Is Thinking About Dirty Gay Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first this chapter was late because I had school work to do. Then it was late because my beta forgot that she was supposed to do something to this chapter. Curse u, [Becca](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, I want to run a car over George just because he exists.

"You seem much better," Stuart remarked as he and John were seated around the living room. George and Ringo were in their room, probably writing, and Paul had decided to remain in the kitchen, putting up his laptop there to work on his novel (he had not advanced much during the last year. John took all of his free time).

John raised his eyebrows, a beer bottle in his hand and a bowl of crisps in his lap as he sat in his favourite armchair, his feet lifted neatly on it as well.

"What d'you mean?" he asked and sipped his beer. Stuart grimaced.

"You don't daze out anymore."

John barked a short laugh and nodded.

"I got it under control. It’s been several days anyway," he winked and Stuart looked like he Didn't Want To Know. John snickered and offered him crisps.

"Y'know," he started then, "I think I'd have to look at your dazed face quite often if you had Astrid around some more."

Stuart shrugged.

"You might as well be right," he sighed, looking miserable. John sloshed the beer around in the bottle and wondered how long Stuart wanted to live like this. There was always the option that the lad would move to Germany, but he needed money first. And preferably a job from there as well.

"Have you been thinking about having kids?" he asked and took another gulp. Stuart looked sheepish.

"Well, I thought of marrying her first, y'know."

John shrugged.

"Everything's possible in this great world of chances. Even, y'know, being gay." He grinned and Stuart started laughing.

"Really? I wouldn't have known."

"Believe it or not. It might hit you any time. Like in a bathroom at 23 o'clock with your boyfriend standing naked in front of you," John said rather blankly and the other man made a face.

"That sounds oddly specific. Care to share?"

John laughed and took the crisps back, hugging the bowl to his chest.

"I've a feeling you really don't wanna hear about it," he murmured with amusement and snuggled deeper into the armchair, letting out a content sigh. What a week he'd had! Stuart looked at him uncomfortably.

"John, you look too satisfied. I don't like it," the lad sipped from his beer can and John snorted, starting to laugh.

"Get more beer in your system and you'll start liking it," he waved his own bottle in the air. Stuart shuddered and shook his head.

"No thanks," he said, just as there were sounds implying that George and Ringo were going to join them on the sofa. "I don't really want to get drunk."

***~**~***

“Astrid has blond, short hair and big, _beautiful_ eyes,” Stuart said for the fifth time as he held his sixth beer can in the air, the drink sloshing inside it dangerously. Ringo was snoring on the sofa; George had snuggled up to him and tried to leave a proper love bite on his throat without the man waking up. Paul was staring at his beer with disbelieving eyes, repeating “6.7 per cent? 9.7 per cent?” to himself again and again in a slightly slurry voice. John was almost asleep, still in his armchair, listening to Stuart's babbling with one ear, thinking vaguely about the wonderful fact that his boyfriend was a man with a dick.

“She is _perfect_ ,” there was a sigh and John let out a hum, trying to sound like he was agreeing to that. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, feeling like his latest beer bottle had been a bit too much.

“Paul hasn't got blond hair,” he said and heard Stuart snort.

“Astrid does.”

“Paul's perfect,” John said, thinking about how happy he was that Paul had a dick, momentarily forgetting that Paul was in the same room as them. The lad didn't seem to be aware of it, though. He was now squinting at the beer, for some reason still trying to figure out whether the first number was six or nine. John had no idea why. He was dead pissed. Paul's dick was really starting to fit nicely in his mouth by now.

“I'm sure,” Stuart sighed, and then started crying. John closed his eyes. Paul's cock danced in front of his eyelids.

“I miss her so much,” was the last thing he heard from his co-worker before sleep took over, and the next thing he knew was darkness.

After that it was the sun shining into his eyes, because somebody. Had forgotten. To draw the curtains. (George.)

He groaned as a headache butted in and the taste inside his mouth registered in his brain, increasing the pain.

"Holy hell," he muttered and dragged himself up, standing up and taking in the surroundings.

George and Ringo were sleeping on the sofa, and Paul had crawled on top of them. Stuart had fallen asleep on the carpet (John winced at that and prayed for his friend's life).

Even on his drunken state Paul had remembered to avoid the floor, then.

John stumbled into the kitchen and filled a glass of water, the headache pulsing behind his eyes endlessly. He was sure not to be the only one. With the amount of beer bottles on the floor in the living room...

Creature was sitting on the kitchen counter and John absentmindedly stroked her head before concentrating on his glass of pure, heaven-made _water_.

He chucked it down and poured himself more, and just as he was going to head for the bathroom to wash his face and take a piss, his Nokia phone rang.

He sighed and contemplated of not answering. He was in no mood at all for talking with possible phone sellers, or Jeff, or basically anyone that could call him at... 11 o'clock. And if it was Mary or Jim he sure as hell wouldn't answer, because he had to keep up the good image of a Future Son-In-Law(™) and that included not answering the phone when he was HUNGOVER AS HELL. (Even shouting to himself hurt, so he stopped.)

Buuuut then again, it might just as well be Mimi who wanted to apologise for being a stuck up nun. Who knew? Actually, John didn't know anyone else who could just call him on a Saturday at a time like this (when he was hangover).

He checked the caller; it was unknown.

 _'But that's a foreign number?'_ he tilted his head, feeling like his brain had been replaced by porridge, and frowned.

Maybe Mimi had gone abroad and now called to apologise, because after that she could easily disappear from the Earth so that she wouldn't have to face the embarrassing truth of having been wrong?

He hoped he had not made wrong decisions in life, cleared his throat, pressed the green button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said with a slightly unsure tone, wincing as the kitchen light suddenly hit his eyes like a bullet.

_"John! I'm **so** glad you answered!"_

John nearly, nearly dropped the phone. His headache disappeared as blood ran from his face, and he grabbed the kitchen counter to steady himself. Creature meowed.

Never, ever had he waited to hear this voice from the phone. Nor _wanted to._

"This isn't your number," he said roughly after a pause. "I'd like to know when it's you calling."

_"John dear, it is my manager's phone -I was not sure whether you'd answer if it was mine."_

" _Mum_ dear," John almost spat the words and sat down at the table, put his free palm over his eyes. He took a deep breath, blowing all the air out right afterwards. He didn't- he couldn't- couldn't do this, especially not now. He needed Paul.

"Why did you call?" he muttered in a quiet voice. He heard how Creature jumped down from the counter and went away.

 _"About the meeting-"_ Julia started, but John interrupted her.

"I haven't decided yet whether I want it or not."

It was silent for a while and John got an overwhelming urge to cry (it was probably still the alcohol in his system (24 hours!! screamed Mimi somewhere)). It was so unfair to have such a relationship with his mother.

John could not remember when Julia had called last time. If she ever had.

Before, he would have been desperate for his mother's attention, would have almost begged to have some contact with her. He had did that, and it had made everything even worse. Now he was older though; an adult, and even if he sometimes struggled with life and George and other disturbing stuff, he could handle things coming his way quite well.

'Things', including a distant, estranged mother.

"Look," he sighed and rubbed the base of his nose, swallowing his tears and his anger and trying to act like an _adult_ , which at least he should be in this situation. Years spent with Jeff had prepared him well for unexpected situations like this. "I don't know my schedule that far. I haven't talked with my boss, and I don't know anything about _your_ availability. The weekend is possible, I guess, but I have to discuss with my-" he paused, frowning. Maybe he should just be frank and not care? When had he cared anyway? It wasn't like he would have been ashamed to be Paul's boyfriend.

No, he more like shouted it out from the top of his lungs.

 _"Your boyfriend. I know,"_ Julia's voice came from the phone and John stopped.

Wait. What.

"How-" he started to say, but this time it was Julia who let out a small (sad?) sigh and talked. John's mouth snapped shut.

_"... I was in contact with Mimi. She told me about you and... Paul."_

"Ho ho," John muttered, "the old dragon strikes again."

Julia started laughing. And for some weird reason, John's heart grew warmer and he felt a surge of satisfaction.

He quickly killed the feeling when he remembered the amount of betrayal Julia had done in the past. He would, _could_ not forgive her after a small phone chat.

 _"Even my dad called her a small dragon when we were kids,"_ Julia snickered to herself and John swallowed, trying not to let his lips stretch into a smile. He was hangover, and tired, and did he yet mention that he was _hungover_?? It was all the alcohol still in his system that made him almost give in to Julia.

"John?"

John lifted his face and looked to his right. George was standing in the doorway, looking like he had either dreamt of having a fuck or had just had a wank in the bathroom. John could not be sure.

"Alright?" he saw George mouth and he grimaced, pointing at the phone. George narrowed his eyes, probably trying to focus his gaze that looked slightly crossed at the moment.

"Listen, Mum," John started and George's eyes widened drastically, his mouth opening a bit in shock and astonishment. (Or he was still dreaming and had Ringo's dick coming towards his mouth. John never knew.)

 _"I will send you an email about my schedule in London,"_ Julia said quickly and John sighed contently.

"Yeah," he let out a small chuckle, "I gotta go. Breakfast 'n stuff."

Julia made a small noise through her nose and John could imagine her clutching the phone in her hand. Why would she do that? Why was John even thinking about it?

 _"I really-"_ Julia then started, but cut herself off. John raised his eyebrows. George had now leant on the doorway, crossed his arms over his chest and adapted a serious look, telling that he was in full 'Protect John' -mode. Usually that mode resulted in hugs and kisses with John running away. John wasn't sure if that was gonna happen now.

 _"I really look forward to seeing you. You're an adult already,"_ Julia sighed and John frowned, but still nodded.

"Yeah. I'll be in contact."

_"Bye! I love you!"_

Now that sounded like the old Julia. John let out a hum, and then hung up.

He lowered the phone and turned to look at George.

"It was Julia," he then said with a blank voice, feeling like all the energy had left his body. "She actually seemed to? Listen to me??"

George frowned.

"Maybe she's got a fever?" he asked in a careful voice and started slowly coming towards John, looking (in John's opinion) like a shark approaching its prey.

"I don't know," John said in an equally careful tone, edging a bit further away from George on his seat. "But I kinda accidentally almost said that we can meet up."

" _What??"_ George asked and John sighed deeply, nodding.

"Yeah. I'm pretty hungover, okay?"

George let out a sound that could have been "urgh", but sounded like it contained a bit more f and r. John deduced that George was as hungover as he was.

"Ye do understand that for 'er that means that ye _will_ meet an' there's no way to run, now?" George muttered, not even waiting for an answer before he walked over to the sink and leant down to drink straight from it. John sighed and let his head fall against the table.

"I had forgotten that I had to think about the meeting," he muttered. "I've only been thinking about-" he paused and opened his eyes, meeting George's that were staring at him. Suspicion entered George's face and he narrowed his eyes.

"Thinkin' about what?"

"Well, not dirty gay sex, like you have," John shot back and turned his head to face the wall, closed his eyes and sighed. He heard George mumble something incomprehensible about dirty gay sex being the most delicious thing on earth.

Well. He hadn't been thinking about dirty gay sex. Only- well, only dirty gay sex that happened with _Paul_.

He swallowed and buried his head into his hands, seeking comfort from the darkness. He couldn't think of these things when he had a headache and- and other stuff.

George sat on the opposite chair from him and started stuffing a heavily buttered sandwich into his face, still looking like he hadn't quite woken up yet. He seemed to be doing rather fine, though.

"Are the others still asleep?" John asked with raised eyebrows. George shrugged.

"Don't know. I pushed Paul on the floor, though."

A horrified expression entered John's face and his head whipped around towards the doorway of the kitchen.

"On the _floor_ -"

"I figured it'd be safe, seein' as Ringo hoovered the carpet before ye'n Stuart came."

"He did?" John whistled lowly. "Might have taken courage."

George nodded, face serious.

"He mentioned somethin' about everlastin' traumas."

John was just about to express his concern through a rather painful grimace when there were dragging footsteps, and both John and George lifted and turned their heads to look at Paul, who looked more than dead. His face was white with a slightly green tint to it, and his eyes were bloodshot, making him look like a zombie woken from the dead.

Both men at the kitchen table followed him trailing towards the sink, his hair sticking out to every possible direction. Paul then reached for a used mug (John thought it was Ringo's), filled it with water and drank it (George shuddered at the sight). After waving for a moment on his feet, he turned and sluggishly moved his feet, disappearing from the kitchen.

John and George turned to look at each other with blank faces. Then, slowly, John opened his mouth.

"Say," he said in a voice that matched his empty expression, "wasn't that mug filled with dishwater?"

George shuddered again, letting out a disgusted sound from his throat.

"I'd rather not think about it," he said in a hoarse mumble and John closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the table.

He certainly hoped that Stuart was still alive.

***~**~***

"I am not alive," Stuart groaned and his head lolled around from side to side. John was lifting him up from the collar of his shirt; it seemed like the bones between his head and his shoulders had disappeared. Ringo was pointing at him with the flashlight from his phone, without any signs of the previous evening having affected him in any ways. How the man did it was a miracle.

George was quickly jotting down a list on his phone's note-taking app.

"No witnesses... No one at the crime scene... No visible murder weapon... Possible poisoninggg..."

"Thank you, George," John said in a calm voice, "I think I can handle this. Stu, you think you can get up?"

"...Not... alive..." Stuart's voice seemed to fade into the void and John raised his eyebrows.

"Let's just lift him on the sofa," Ringo suggested and John agreed to that plan. Together they heaved the dead weight from their floor on the sofa, and John threw a blanket haphazardly on the hungover lump before they retreated from the room into the kitchen.

George sighed, his cheek against the table.

"I'm so hungry. Why is no one makin' food??" he whined and Ringo rolled his eyes.

"Well, if you want a food poisoning to top the alcohol poisoning, I can give it a try."

"C'mon, love," George muttered, "I am so hungry I could eat a dick."

"Well," John commented, "then mine's not coming towards you in a while. I should probably check on Paul, as well."

"He seriously drank the dishwater?" Ringo raised his eyebrows with an amused expression. John grimaced.

"Unfortunately, even I could not make that up."

Ringo frowned and looked like he was wondering "how can anyone do that without noticing".

"How can anyone do that without noticing?" he asked and John shrugged, standing up. He had so many things to think about, and the current blurriness of the atmosphere in the flat was not helping.

He was not yet functional, not at all. But his mind was more or less running, even though his eyes were heavy. The painkiller he had taken a bit after Paul had made his entrance had ensured that the headache would disappear, and there was only a small jab left somewhere in his right temple.

"I'm gonna check on Paul," he said decisively and both George and Ringo nodded, George not moving his head from the table. It was really pathetic. The clock had ticked away and now, with it nearing 14 o'clock, John felt the pressure of being an adult and not doing anything productive.

Well, the productive thing of the day could be ensuring that his boyfriend wouldn't choke on his own vomit.

Dishwater. That was just _disgusting_.

***~**~***

"Dishwater. That is just _disgusting_ ," Paul made a vomiting sound and pushed his tongue out of his mouth. John chuckled.

"You didn't even seem to realise it," he snickered and Paul made an overdramatic sad face.

"I did. About four hours later."

John laughed and corrected the position of the laptop on his legs. They were sitting on the sofa, using their Sunday for writing and talking about things that didn't have any meaning. Stuart had left yesterday evening, having more or less collected himself, and Paul had managed to get himself back on track again. John hadn't mentioned anything about Julia yet; he felt like he needed time to process it a bit before talking to Paul. Also, Paul was only now getting back into shape. John would probably mention about the call tomorrow.

George and Ringo had lazily snuggled up on the floor, now that the carpet was sure to be clean of any... _things_. Ringo was reading and George was chatting with some people on Messenger. Creature was lying in Paul's lap, profiting from what was left of the laptop's heat, before Paul had given it to John.

"Are you gonna get on with it or not?" Paul asked with raised eyebrows, glancing over at John. John snorted and cracked his fingers.

"Just watch. Or actually, don't. It'll spoil the surprises."

Paul smiled and concentrated on petting the cat, his eyes soon clouding over as he got lost in thoughts. John tapped a few keys and hacked into Paul's computer. He had his iPhone next to him with an open Dropbox-document, full of his poems. He started quickly writing them into the blank screen in front of him, everything else already prepared.

After John's poems had run out the last time, Paul had demanded that he'd put in some more. The lad had got used to them by then, and seeing as the two of them were already together... John had just waited that Paul was out shopping and had done some changes into the way Paul's screen saver would behave. He didn't know if Paul had already figured it out, but all the texts had been broken into small sentences that would become the computer's screen saver... randomly. At pretty much random times. John was proud of himself.

Well, by now John only had to raise his eyebrows at Paul and point at the laptop, and he would receive it rather easily. He would be happy as long as Paul was content, and Paul would become content if he received new poems John had made. It was a _great_ deal.

He was almost finished when suddenly his phone let out a ping, informing him of a new email. He glanced at the pop-up message and frowned.

He reached out for the phone and swiped the message open.

* * *

> From: Julia Lennon <[julia_stanley@gmail.com](http://ugh)>  
>  To: John Lennon <[john.w.lennon@hotmail.com](http://hotmechanic)>  
>  Subject: Our meeting in London
> 
> Hi my darling! I put an attachment with this email about my schedule. I hope you know how to open it! London is so buzzy! I can't wait to meet you. Let's go to a restaurant!
> 
> Tell my greetings to Paul!!
> 
> Love, Mum xxxxxx

* * *

"Oh my God," John groaned and pressed the phone against his forehead. It was slightly warm. "Someone has to teach Julia that too many exclamation marks is too much.”

Everyone's head snapped into his direction and he lifted his eyes, meeting Paul's suddenly burning ones. The movement of his hand on Creature had stilled.

“ _Julia_??” the younger man asked, his voice terrifyingly calm. John made a face.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling very nervous for some reason. Maybe it was the way Paul was staring at him with _way_ too much pressure in his gaze. “I- Well, I accidentally agreed to have a meeting with her.”

“You _WHAT_?!?!” Paul yelled from the top of his lungs. Both Ringo and George both jerked with surprise, Creature let out a loud meow and dashed away from the man, and John leant as far away from Paul as what was possible.

“Er,” he swallowed, and then Paul was on his feet, his hands placed on his hips. John had always feared that position.

“How on _Earth_ did you end up with this situation???” Paul said (really, _really_ loudly). John shook his head slowly. He was glad that the headache had been yesterday's problem.

“I didn't. Um, she kinda took me by surprise. I was hungover!” he looked sheepish, but raised his voice. Paul's nostrils flared.

“Why the _fuck_ wouldn't you talk with me first??!” he was yelling again and John wanted to hide behind the sofa. He was sure Paul would find him, though.

“I, um, well, you were kinda passed out at that moment.”

He was quite sure that Paul's anger was more directed towards the fact that John hadn't shared this with him before, as well as he had been excluded from the process of actually _talking_ with Julia. (John couldn't remember the last time he'd actually talked with her. It must have been years.)

Paul stared at him with a pissed off expression, then turned and marched out on the balcony, slamming the door behind him. John could see him lean against the railing, the tension in his shoulders showing that the man was fuming.

“Hm,” he frowned, feeling something bad and ugly in the pit of his stomach. He was slightly confused, but then again, with Paul that feeling was never really far away. “Have we ever really fought like this?”

George and Ringo glanced at each other, and then simultaneously shook their heads. John sighed and carefully placed Paul's laptop next to him on the sofa.

“I don't get it,” he muttered, “why is it such a big deal?”

George frowned.

“Well, Paul's been stressin' about it for some time, I guess. An' he's been worried about ye.”

Ringo nodded agreeingly, agreeing.

“He probably would have wanted to be your support when you first spoke with her,” the man shrugged, as well as he could from his position anyway. John swallowed and turned to look at Paul's stiff shape. He took his glasses into his hand and cleaned them on his shirt absentmindedly.

He was quite sure that there was something else as well in Paul's mind that made the lad get so worked up about this, but he couldn't tell what. It was probably the same, old reasons that had caused the breakdown in Liverpool as well. John would certainly have to do something about this whole situation soon. Sometimes Paul would just have this… expression on his face that told that he was thinking totally something deep and troubling.

He put his glasses back on and returned his eyes on Paul. He would go out in a minute, try to talk with the other lad. There was no reason to be scared, right?

“Can this even be called a fight?” he asked mulishly. The other two men shared a look and sighed simultaneously.

“I'd call it a small argument,” Ringo said, opening his book again, “but it has potential to become a real war. Caution is the keyword, pal.”

John exhaled deeply and stood up, thinking of getting his jacket before going to the balcony. There was a reason why it wasn't used much during winter. He wondered if Paul's socks were wet.

He stepped outside and closed the door behind him softly. His glasses were getting misty in the cold air and he shuddered.

Paul's shoulders were shivering.

“Hey,” John sighed and walked closer, the balcony floor dry to his relief. Fortunately it had not yet snowed, either. “If we gotta argue, let's do it inside.”

Paul threw him a glance that made sure to show John that the lad was _pissed off_. John came to his side and leant on the railing as well, examining his boyfriend's face. He had pressed his lips tightly together, and there was tension in his temples.

“Really, Paul,” John said just as it felt like his teeth would start chattering, “I'm freezing.”

“No one's forcing you to stay,” Paul said, and his tone must have been about ten degrees colder than the air around them. John rolled his eyes, despite the fact that all of his bodily functions had just frozen to an early death.

“Don't be an idiot,” he sighed. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you before?”

Paul glared at him this time, his glare at least twenty degrees colder than the air around them. John wondered whether he'd get hypothermia before this discussion was over.

“How could you _accidentally_ say that you'll meet her??” the other man, who seemed to be rather fine in these freezing temperatures, said. It sounded a bit more like a hiss, though. John shuddered.

“I, well. She surprised me with, erm, well, first she told me that she knew about you.”

If John hadn't been watching Paul carefully, he would have missed the small emotion that passed over the man's eyes. What was it? Guilt?

“She told me that Mimi had talked with her,” he said in a calculating voice. Paul glanced at him before turning his eyes downwards, watching the people on the street.

“Mimi's still alive?” he asked, sounding mildly surprised. John snorted with a laugh.

“Yeah, apparently,” he said, amused. Sometimes there were clear reasons that he could pinpoint out for why he was with Paul. This was one of those reasons; Paul never failed to make him laugh.

Cynthia had been, more or less, boring. But a great shag and a wonderful emotional supporter. A while ago, though. _Quite_ a while ago.

“So, Mimi had told Julia about you,” John started examining his fingernails. The underneath of them was almost always a bit black, because of all the oil and dirt he got on him in the shop. “So I kinda- well, at that point I probably decided that one of us had to be an adult, and I told her that I didn't know about my schedule yet, but that I could probably put up a meeting.”

Paul nodded, seemingly lost in thought. His forearms were hanging off the balcony, his fingers clasped together. John frowned.

“Let's get inside, 'ey?” he rised an eyebrow and Paul threw him another sulky glance.

“I'm still pissed off.”

“Yeah, sure, but you don't want me freezing my dick.”

Paul snorted and returned his gaze on the street.

“We'll see about that,” he muttered, and John got a feeling that he really had to leave the balcony now, or otherwise Shit would go Down.

He entered the living room, shaking and teeth clattering. Ringo and George looked at him with identical expressions, eyebrows raised and a questioning look in their eyes. They had moved on the sofa and cuddled up there.

John shrugged as an answer.

“Someone that's not me, get him out of there,” he sighed and started rubbing his arms, now feeling how his toes were starting to come back to life. “Please. I don't want _him_ to freeze _his_ dick.”

“Ye sure?” George raised his eyebrows even more, a wolfish grin splitting his face. “It'd be a bit like ice cr-”

“Nooooooo _ooooo_ ,” John wheezed and pointed a finger at the lad, “don't you even _dare_ -”

“-EAM-” George's voice rose up an octave and John turned on his heels, started to hurry out from the living room. Ringo's howling laughter followed him and he growled quietly in his throat, feeling frustrated. He couldn't handle George, not know. He hadn't planned his Sunday to go like this. Or his whole _weekend_.

What he now needed was a warm shower, but instead he opted to get on the bed and wrap himself up in several blankets. That had never failed him before.

Now _he_ was starting to get pissed off. It wouldn't be directed at Paul, however.

Fortunately he could always write angry poems about how everyone should DIE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuck. Dishwater. Also, the next chapter will probably come during the weekend, seeing as both me and Becca are kinda busy atm (I HAVE A LATIN EXAM ON FRIDAY PEOPLE I WILL _DIE_ )


	6. George Is Everywhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, a few notes about this: Sorry it's kinda late, but sometimes life happens. This chapter is also, at the moment, UN-BETAED
> 
>  
> 
> **I repeat: UN-BETAED**
> 
>  
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear in this chapter are non-existing (except, well. I'll tell you more later). They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> those who wonder, I got B from the latin exam. I am so good.

By the time Paul got back in, he felt like all the ice from the Ice Age had been dumped on him. He was, fairly spoken, _frozen._

"Hullo," George called lazily from the sofa, drawing slow circles on Ringo's shoulder while the older man tried to concentrate on reading. "Seems like ye feel like joinin' us peasants again."

Paul glared at him, not at all in the mood. He didn't like _one_ bit that John had gone and spoke with Julia without him being there. He felt kind of betrayed, maybe, but was also mad at _Julia_. And at John. Probably at everyone right now.

"I'll be writing in the kitchen," he muttered, knowing that John was probably in their room. If he happened to be in the kitchen, well, then Paul would just take over the loo.

“Remember that sometimes with anger ye jus' gotta _let it gooo_ -” George started to catch up the Disney tune. Paul groaned and dramatically hurried out of the living room. Probably now that winter was properly beginning Disney's last year's hit _Frozen_ would be everywhere again, and he didn’t need George starting the trend.

He entered the kitchen, finding to his relief that John wasn't there. He quickly put the kettle on and held his fingers under warm water while the water started to boil. He was pissed off, but he had to admit that going to the balcony had been kind of stupid.

After the tea was ready and Paul was comfortably seated at the table, a mug in one hand and the other on the keyboard, he started thinking what to do. John hadn't closed the computer, and wasn't finished with the… _hacking_ , or whatever it was that he was doing. Paul had no idea how to get away from the white screen that started with code, and in the middle of it there were poems. He glanced at them before looking away. It wouldn't be fun to receive them later if he had already seen their contents.

He turned the computer so that he wouldn't see the screen and pulled out his phone. He wanted to give a ring to Julia and shout at her, because it was basically her fault that their comfortable Sunday cuddling had been cancelled harshly. He didn't think it'd be the best idea, though.

He sat still for a moment, looking at the icon of his browser.

Ever since John had given him the blowjob, the burning in Paul’s stomach at the thought of sex had only increased. He was thinking about it almost constantly, and the memory of John’s lips around him was so arousing that he was hot _all the time_.

He had had a momentarily thought of “all those fic writers would be in heaven because of this”. And after that it had been just downhill from that. He was aware of the fanfiction existing, but he had not _read_ anything. The drawings had scarred him for life, and they had awoken this dangerous urge to have John’s dick into his arse. (He shuddered, but not out of disgust.) Who knew what… what fics might do??

But the curiosity was a bad partner, because when the thought had surfaced, he could not push it down. It would not- it would not hurt to take a little look, right? He had been thinking of it relentlessly during this week. Before he hadn’t been able to take a look, because John was always around, but…

He leant his elbow on the table and his cheek against his palm, handling the phone with his other hand. He opened the browser with his thumb and quickly jotted down the internet address he needed.

 _'My soul is going to fall into the deepest pits of Hell for this,'_ he thought as tumblr's (way too) familiar front page opened in front of him. It could not be such a bad thing, though, could it? What was the worst thing that could happen from this? Okay, his soul would be in hell forever, now, but other than that? Maybe he would get a few traumas, but… it could not be such a bad thing, right? _Right_??

_john lennon paul mccartney_

_john lennon paul mccartney fic_

_john x paul_

_john x paul fic_

“Okay,” Paul muttered as he found the keyword that produced the biggest amount of results. He glanced behind him to make sure that George was nowhere to be seen and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

**_ Loves Only Once _ **

_**Rating** :_ _R_ __  
_**Pairings** :_ _John/Paul, Paul/OC, John/OC_ __  
_**Disclaimer** :_ _John and Paul belong to EACH OTHER, not to me. BUT I WISH THEY WOULD_ _  
__**Summary** :_ _John and Paul are friends. They are extremely in love with each other but they won't acknowledge it. Can they find each other or will they spend the rest of their lives pretending?_

_Paul stood in the traffic lights. Cars passed him and the air was crispy. He sighed._

_-If only John was here, he thought to himself. -I wouldn't be so bored._

_He was on his way to a flower shop. He was going to by flowers to his girlfriend Susie. Susie had brown hair and green twinkling eyes and Paul found her very pretty. But not as pretty as his best friend John was._

_Suddenly a car horn tooted rigth next to him. Paul jumped, surprised._

_-Get in mate! it was John! Paul smiled widely and ran towards the car._

_\- Helo! he greeted. John grinned and started driving. Paul looked at him confused_

_\- I'm going to a flower shop, he said. John nodded._

_\- Rihgt, he said and turned the wheel, turning to the rihtg. - I wanted to have a sleepover._

_\- A sleepover? Paul thought to himself. He saw John glance at him with a soft smile. It was weird. Usually John didn't smile like that exept with Lara, his girlfriend. She was a blogger and she liked cofee and teddy bears._

“Teddy bears,” Paul whispered to himself, not sure if he wanted to continue. The writing style was all but clear, and the whole… _way_ of saying things implied that the author of this story didn't have much experience with writing. Besides, the spelling mistakes were slowly driving him crazy.

 _\- I'd love to have you there, john said_ (Paul grimaced and sipped his tea, hoping that it would chase away the sour feeling that the lowercase letter in John's name had caused) _and turned to the left. Paul smiled at John, happy. John smiled at him and they stared at each other's eyes._

_Suddenly there was a car horn in the air. Paul screamed._

_\- WATCH OUT!!!!! he scraemed and a car hit them_

“ _What_ ,” Paul narrowed his eyes. Were they supposed to _die???_ He scrolled down, catching excerpts like “- _passionately staring at each other-”, “-If your not happy with me, we'll break up, Susie screamed at him. Paul started crying”, “-their lips were battling with each other and John's bloody_ (wait, bloody?? What had happened??? Paul scrolled up a bit) _hand pressed against paul's side strong-”,_ and so on.

Well. Apparently they had not died, and Susie had broken up with Paul, and John had got his hands _bloody_ and for some reason that made Paul… _kiss him_???

 _'I think I'd at least first wrap his hand into a bandage,'_ Paul thought (to himself) with a rather terrifying, blank mind. It was like he had no feelings at all.

Maybe he'd just skip this one. Yeah. The chapters seemed to be about 500 words long, and there were fifty of them. It was a right horror.

He continued his search through tumblr, passing a few similar-looking horror stories (well, not literally horror stories, but that made Paul want to run away with horror), until he ended up with on that seemed a bit more promising.

Paul had a terrible feeling that at some point he would inevitably run into fics written by George. That was something he _didn't_ want to see, or experience, or exist in the same world with.

The fic that caught his interest had a big, stylishly drawn picture as a cover. There was John, with his hair long and on a ponytail, a stern look on his face, and Paul, with braids and rather long hair, looking troubled and shy. The picture was well-drawn, and as Paul clicked on the link in the description it took him to Ao3.

The whole story seemed to be whopping 200 000 words long, and Paul was _sure_ he was _not_ going to read them all. The story had thousands of hits and a few hundred kudos, showing it to be a total fan favourite. He eyed at the tags and when he saw the warnings of _rape_ and _torture_ and _violence_ and _killing_ he contemplated of letting the whole thing go. Why would he want to read such things about himself and John?

On the other hand, wasn't he here trying to do research about the kind of things that went on about him and John? No matter what George said, it was devil's work that suddenly the Internet would just pop up with hundreds of fan works about two people who were just _ordinary_ folks.

That did say something about George's friends, though.

Paul wondered briefly whether Jeff had written any fanfiction. He shuddered.

He collected himself and scrolled down towards the work text, sipped his tea, and prepared himself mentally.

 

##  _The Song of Love_

_ Summary:___________________________________________________________ _

_Paul wakes up to a peaceful morning, only to discover that a feared warrior clan is going to attack his citadel. Seeing it as the only chance to save everyone his father decides to give Paul to the warriors. Paul ends up being the clan's future leader's personal slave, and even though he had many fears when first arriving to the warrior camp, falling in love with his captor wasn't on the top of his mind. What follows is pain and tears, fear, and love. But especially love._

_ Notes:_______________________________________________________________

_First posted on tumblr and now here on ao3. Thanks a lot for all the people supporting me and this story, especially_ _ George _

“Oh, no,” Paul muttered. “There goes that story.”

_who has been a wonderful support and an enthusiastic beta._

“Oh _no_.”

_I hope you all enjoy this! Also, Paul is my bby. My smol child._

Paul frowned.

“Okay. I've never even met you,” he swallowed and scrolled down just a tiny bit, bringing the story in front of his eyes.

' _Here goes nothing,'_ he thought and leant over the screen, pushing himself into his reading mode.

####  _Chapter 1_ _: Taken_

_The morning seemed to be perfection in its stillness. It had a gentle sky, the pink of sunrise fading and the stillness of night being chased away by the early bird songs._

_This was Paul's favorite thing about living in the citadel: the view. He could stand, as he was now, and watch the whole of the town wake up and greet their new day. He was enjoying this view now, sitting in the cool breeze out on a balcony in simple white sleeping clothes. He could see the buildings expanding out in little rows, and the forests out to the east and the north. If he turned his head, he could see the plains stretching west, barren but- what?_

_Barren usually, yes, but no more. Now, instead of the windswept moors, he saw what seemed nearly to be a cloud blowing in from the horizon. Except, as he stood and looked closer, it was not a cloud. It was a vast expanse of people, approaching on horseback and kicking up a vast cloud of dust with them._

_A look of worry immediately took over his face, and he dashed inside to tell someone, anyone. The whack of his bare feet echoed the pounding of his heart, and as soon as he reached the room his father slept in, he entered without knocking._

_"Father," he gasped. "Wake up, wake up, I've seen something!" He said breathlessly, berating himself for his vagueness and waiting for the man to stir, debating stepping forward and shaking him._

_When the man in the bed started to move, Paul jumped forward to shake him anyway._

_"Father, please, just wake up!" He demanded desperately, stepping back when the man started to sit up._

_"What in the hell-?" He began gruffly, but Paul cut him off with a harried expression on his face and fear in his voice._

_"There are people coming, sir, people on horses riding here," he gasped. "I don't know what they want but they don't seem friendly." He finished breathlessly._

“Dad right would like me to call him sir,” Paul muttered to himself and poured some more tea into his mug, not sure yet about the story. The writing was fine, he guessed, or at least there hadn't been any things bothering him.

 _'Why am I doing this again?'_ he wondered, and after a moment of empty staring, concluded that he was simply curious about just _what_ kind of shit people were writing about him and John.

 _'I'm not sure if this is shit, though,'_ he sighed and concentrated again. A small part of him kind of wanted to see John enter the story, but he assumed the meeting wouldn't be too far away.

_He hardly got the chance to finish before his father was on his feet, pushing him aside and dashing from the room to call for soldiers. Paul slowly stepped out behind him, knowing with a sinking feeling that their small militia was not one capable of defeating the force he'd seen._

_As the morning wore on and the birds sang louder, Paul was increasingly pushed to the side as the citadel readied for the attack that Paul knew they simply couldn't take. He found himself in the corner of a room with a long, low table, usually used for discussions by his father and the ministers, now mocked up as a war room. It was nearly empty, save his father and a handful of guards near the door._

_For once, everything was still, and they could only wait for what was to come next._

_Paul cowered against the wall by the window, fearful of the fierce screams and yells he heard outside. He dared peek around and out the window, but all the sights did was serve to terrify him more. He felt his blood run cold at the sight of the warriors, faces marked with some sort of paint and horses frothing at the mouth._

_They were terrifying. Utterly so. They rode relentlessly, not even pausing or slowing as they neared the scant borders of the small town. Paul saw, to his horror, most of their so-called defence break ranks and run under the onslaught. He himself felt the knot of fear in his belly tighten, though his attention was somehow grabbed by the discussion of the others in the room. His father, and his closest ministers were almost visibly sweating._

_"I've heard of them." Began the eldest solemnly, and the way they stood told Paul that they'd hardly noticed his presence._

_"They will be relentless," added another, voice shaky. "I know. I've seen them before." The man's eyes were darting about, wide and scared at the memories playing through his head. "They will want something. I don't know what, but something. When they-" his voice choked to a stop, and the elder contributed softly for him._

_"When they take villages," he said simply, "they will likely demand a prize or a payment beyond our valuables in exchange for mercy. Perhaps something of value to them. . ." He trailed off._

_"Perhaps something of value to us." Paul's father continued solemnly._

Paul hated to admit it, but he was getting rather hooked. The story went on with the warriors stopping in front of the citadel and demanding to talk with the leaders, voicing their will. They offered two options: Either they killed everyone, or the citadel could offer a payment for not killing everyone, something that was valuable and that the warriors thought as such.

Paul's eyes swept past the text and he came to a moment that somehow felt like it would stop his heart.

_Paul found himself reaching over to touch his father's sleeve, to show solidarity on this difficult moment. What could they possibly give, when that payment had to make up for all the lives of the citadel?_

_His father's hand shot out and everything seemed to move deathly fast._

_His father was grabbing his wrist, looking up and calling out. "My son." He said, nearly choked. "I'll offer you my son."_

_Then, the smirk on the warrior leader's face grew and a few murmurs erupted behind him. Paul wanted to tug away, wanted to run and hide because_ **_what the hell was going on_ _?_ **

_But he couldn't. His father's grip was iron on his wrist, and the man refused to turn and even look at him._

He was thrown over a horse. Over _John's_ horse. His hands were tied and everything hurt. It was weird to read such stuff happening to himself, but Paul didn't really care at this point.

He was _really_ getting into the story.

_Paul kept his eyes mobile, scanning his surroundings intently. His wrists still ached in the ties, and he hated the way the people who walked past looked at him. They watched him like he was a piece of meat, something to be appraised and judged._

_Some seemed angry that they had lost their chance to fight because of him, but blissfully, none of them said a word._

_Paul looked up curiously as the man returned from brushing his horse, taking in the sight of the warrior. His ponytail was loose and sloppy, and he could now get a good look at the man's features. They were stern and sharp, and his hair burned auburn in the high sunlight._

_He was certainly sweaty, loosening his clothes and furs as he walked. Paul looked down again once he'd seen his fill, indulging himself and once more examining his various aches and pains. The worst of them was in his wrists, his sharp hunger a close second._

“ _Let us get these cleaned, then,” the warrior said as he tugged at the rope and pulled Paul inside the tent. He pushed the young, frightened man down on the pelt and went over to a basket that seemingly contained bread and vegetables._

_"There you go. You would be a right nuisance if you lost your consciousness," the warrior said and pressed the bit of bread against Paul's mouth._

Huh. The warrior was surprisingly gentle. Not at all that harsh. He was a bit like the real John. Paul sipped at his tea and read on, soon jumping into the second chapter. And the third.

Hell, a story beta-ed by George shouldn't be this good! A story containing John and Paul _shouldn't_ be this _good_ !!! But as the story went on and the warriors turned out to be much nicer than what one would think first, and when the naive, innocent Paul started unknowingly to himself develop feelings for the man that now _owned_ him, Paul found that he just couldn't put down his phone.

By the time he had got on the sixth chapter (where the warrior John had been hunting and had fell from his horse, twisting his leg, and now Paul was panicking and trying to take care of him), there were voices behind him and he snapped his head around, just in time to see Ringo enter the kitchen, stretching and yawning.

“Well, I guess it's time for dinner,” the older man sighed and Paul's eyes whipped over to look at the time from the microwave.

“ _WHAT_??!” he yelled and jumped on his feet, making Ringo jerk from surprise.

“Er, yes? It's dinner time?” the man raised his eyebrows and Paul stared at him disbelievingly. He had been reading for three hours!

“But-” Paul stuttered, his stomach starting to rumble.

He threw a hateful glance at his phone, grabbed it and marched towards the doorway.

“Gonna take a piss,” he said through clenched teeth, cursing George to death. And he was sure that Ringo had something to do with this damned story as well!

It was just his luck that he had to run into John on his way to the loo.

“Christ!” he let out a sound that was more or less like a screech, bringing a hand to his heart. John stared at him with raised eyebrows, having rounded the corner _way too_ unexpectedly.

“You're still alive?” he asked and Paul had a fleeting thought of how John would look _really_ good with a ponytail. He shook the thought off.

 _'The damn fic's already plaguing and rotting away my sensible mind,'_ he thought (still to himself) and started slowly advancing, walking with his back against the wall.

“Yeah,” he said, somehow his anger having disappeared and the feeling having been replaced by all these confusing thoughts of how he _really_ wanted John to fuck him. “Didn't even lose any members.”

“You got more than one?” John looked confused and then his eyes glanced towards the kitchen. “Is someone making the dinner? I'm _really_ hungry.”

“Ringo,” Paul's voice was becoming shaky. If he didn't get away now, he would jump into John and _that_ would be the start of his downfall. Besides, he needed to finish chapter six. He could do it by taking an extra-long shit.

“Oh, okay,” John nodded and then looked like he was wondering something, his calculating gaze on Paul all the time. Paul was starting to sweat from the neck.

“Is everything alright? Between us?” the other man then asked carefully and Paul wanted to _wheeze_. There was no way in this world that he had deserved someone so caring and wonderful as John!

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, his grip on his iPhone tightening. “I'm still mad. Go away.”

John sighed, looking defeated.

“Look, Paul, I'm sorry-”

“Yeah. Bugger off,” Paul started slowly moving again, hoping that he would get past John without the man noticing. Unfortunately, he had never been exceptionally good at sneaking around.

“I was thinking of offering The Blowjob Of Reconciliation,” John pouted slightly and Paul stopped. Yeah. If Ringo was making food, and they were quick… there would certainly be time-

NO. He couldn't let John get out of this just like that. He _couldn't_ give in to this monstrous man…

...who would certainly look good in a leather tunic, sporting a large sword in his back, with a ponytail…

“NO!” Paul yelled and shook his head. “STOP IT.”

John's face became rather passive.

“You're talking to yourself again, aren't you?” he asked with a knowing tone and Paul felt frustration well up in his stomach. Urgh! Damn John. Damn the whole fic! Paul felt like those three hours of reading had pulled him away from the present and into some sort of a Middle Ages kind of -era, in an alternate universe, with horses and swords and shit.

“No! I mean it was _not_ meant for _you_ \- I was not talking! John, oh,” and Paul made his decision, because _hell_ , what would be better than a quickie before dinner? Nothing.

“-for _fuck's sake_!”

He grabbed John by the shirt, pulled him into a searing kiss and then dragged him into the bedroom, throwing the man on the bed and climbing in right after.

“You better have that _blowjob_ ready,” he growled against the other's mouth and John's confused, if not amused expression changed into that of heated lust.

“Oh, _sure,_ ” the man muttered. Paul had a feeling that John, somehow, wouldn't mind if things got a bit rough.

If they were quick, he would still have time to finish chapter six.

***~**~***

“ _Please_ tell me we're not fighting anymore,” John said with a plea when they were finishing up the bolognese Ringo had created from a scratch. Paul glared at him, while George eyefucked Ringo's spaghetti like it was the man's dick and Ringo eyefucked George eyefucking his spaghetti like it was his dick.

“If you think you're forgiven, you're wrong,” Paul said through gritted teeth. John sighed sadly and lowered his gaze back on his fork and spoon. George let out a wanton sigh as Ringo testing lifted one single spaghetti on the air, waving it with interest in front of the younger man's face.

“Even though I offered you a-” John started then, but Paul moved faster than a ninja could and slammed his palm over John's mouth. Everyone (including Paul) jumped at the loud sound that it caused, and John jerked a bit backwards, wincing.

“Ouch,” he deadpanned and Paul pulled his hand back, his fingers twitching.

“I- Oh, Christ, I'm sorry!” he said quickly, reaching out to John with both of his hands. He took a gentle hold of John's head and turned it so that he could examine John's mouth.

“I'm so _sorry-”_ he gasped while John had an expression on his face that told that the man sure had left this sphere.

“Let's get out of here before I choke on this sugar. I can handle porn, but this is outright disgustin',” George said and Ringo chuckled, nodding, and stood up. He took his plate with him and waved it in front of George.

“Come, boy,” he snickered and George laughed as well as they together left the kitchen, starting an excited chatter about dogs.

Paul glanced at them before returning his attention to John.

“John?” he said softly and the man shook himself, bringing a hand to his lips.

“Ouch,” he repeated and Paul started feeling panic rise in his throat.

“I didn't mean to-” he started, but then John's finger pressed against his lips softly. Paul shut up.

“Shut up,” John said. Also, at the same time Paul realised that he was supposed to be angry at John.

“I am still mad!” he said and started pulling his hands away, but John caught his wrists and smiled, if not with some difficulty.

“A kiss to make the pain go away?” he asked with raised eyebrows, and oh, how Paul just _wanted_ to drag the man back into the bedroom and-

NO. HE WAS STILL MAD.

“Urgh. You're disgusting,” he muttered, but leant in and pressed a soft kiss on John's lips. Well. He might have been angry, but kissing John was _still_ so _nice_.

“I'm not the one who farts in bed,” John said cheerfully and Paul fought his left hand free, only to slap John on the side of his head.

“Ouch,” John said for the third time and Paul turned away from him, his face sulking.

“You're an idiot,” he said, and before John had time to register anything that had happened Paul had gobbled down everything that remained of his spaghetti bolognese and disappeared from the kitchen, leaving his plate on the table.

He marched through the hallway and closed himself into the loo, sitting on top of the toilet seat and wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn't feel good at all. How was he ever going to get anything done if he couldn't even stay mad at John?!

He grabbed his phone angrily, opened it and glanced briefly at the new notifications from Facebook and WhatsApp before opening his browser, and with a defeated sigh let his eyes fall on the text that was already waiting for him.

He was screwed.

_Paul jerked and looked up, quickly standing._

_Once more, John looked like in pain, and Paul knew that the leaves he had used to chase the pain away had worn off in the night._

_"John?" He asked, searching for a wooden cup. "Are you awake?"_

_John paused for a minute, eyes closed, supporting the weight of his upper body on his elbows. Then, with his voice as balanced and neutral as possible, said:_

_"Preferably I would sleep for the whole day, but that would not look good in the eyes of the people. So I shall rise and at least pretend I am awake."_

“But your leg is hurt!” Paul whispered, already engrossed with the happenings. Poor John- the pain must have been awful!

_"But you're healing," Paul argued without thinking. "There's no shame in resting when you're healing. If you go up and about now, your leg will set wrong. You'll give yourself a limp or a weak leg."_

_John sighed and shook his head._

_"Amongst our clan, power is everything. As the leader of the son I am expected to be almost inhuman in my capabilities. The scene yesterday was already a lot; people saw me almost unconscious, having to be carried from place to place. They would understand if I had been gravely hurt, but this is a mere leg. It is no reason to not lay around for the whole day."_

“What an _idiot_ ,” Paul hissed and made his position a bit more comfortable. If _his_ John had been hurt like that, Paul would knock him out cold and make sure he stayed like that until his leg was better. In this story, though, he seemed so _weak_. John was as stubborn as ever, though.

 _'I'm not really like that, right?'_ he wondered, sighed, and shook his head. Probably not.

_"I know the dangers, because I am no stranger to injuries," John started, staring at Paul intensively. "I am not talking of running about and throwing my sword today. Mainly of going outside a bit, of course the leg wrapped up and medicine taken, just to see my horse and get some warm water, and that will be it. I have no intention of making this worse."_

_Paul sighed and nodded as John spoke. Yeah, of course, it always_ _started_ _that way but, did it ever stay like that? No. It didn't. John was going to go and- wait. What?_

_"Throw your sword?" Paul asked incredulously. "It weighs as much as I do!"_

“Throw his _sword_???” Paul exclaimed and slapped a hand over his mouth, his terrified gaze turning to look at the loo door anticipating.

There were steps outside it and a knock of knuckles.

“ _Paul?”_ John's voice asked. “ _Is everything alright?”_

“For someone who's supposed to be fighting with me, you're awfully supportive all the time,” Paul called back and he heard John chuckle.

“ _I'm_ _not fighting. It's been you all along, love.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul sighed, but a small smile rose on his lips. “Maybe you could offer me a new peace treaty.”

“ _I'll keep that in mind. I'll be in the room if you feel like redeeming your coupon.”_

Paul laughed at that and heard John walk away, contently humming to himself.

Would they even be able to have proper, heart-breaking fights? Paul somehow doubted it. At least as long as John was this fond of him, and kind, and patient, and understanding, and-

 _'I'll just go back to the fic, shall I,'_ Paul exhaled deeply and returned his attention to the story, his mind calmer and the smile still on his lips.

He'd finish this chapter and _then_ go.

***~**~***

Except, wow. That was one _hell_ of a cliff-hanger.

***~**~***

That evening Paul and John curled up on the bed, John's arms around Paul and Paul snuggled up to his chest. They had lied down like that for some time, just staying in silence and basking in each other's presence.

Paul broke the silence with an annoyed murmur.

"I'm still angry."

John glanced down at him with raised eyebrows.

"Are you _really_ sure that this is the correct way of showing it," he asked and nudged Paul slightly. Paul growled and tightened his arms around John.

"Don't make me any madder," he hissed and John snorted and started laughing.

"Oh, will you hug me to death?"

"Hey!" Paul started pushing himself away from John, but the other's arms tightened around him and pulled him back. "John-"

"Uh-uh," John said cheerfully and turned them over, pressing Paul against the mattress. He grinned down at the man, his fingers gently curved around Paul's wrists.

"John," Paul spat, "I'm not ready for a third round today."

John laughed, leant down, and started nuzzling at Paul's throat.

"I'm making you _ooold_ ," he crooned and Paul looked at the ceiling with a pissed off expression, his legs trying to kick John. He tried not to think about Jane and what she had said.

"You _wish,_ " he muttered and John laughed again, his breath ghosting over Paul's Adam’s apple. Paul shuddered and decided that John had to be stopped.

"What did-" he coughed, "what did Julia say?"

John paused and Paul felt slightly bad for ruining the man's good mood. John let out a deep sigh against his skin before the man moved and sat up on top of Paul's stomach. He ran a hand through his hair and lifted himself up, kneeling on the bed and lowering himself to sit on his heels. For a moment his expression was unseen.

Paul sat up and crawled closer.

"I'm not angry anymore," he said in a bright voice, and that seemed to break John. The man cracked up and his howling laughter made Paul start snickering as well.

"Okay, okay," John wiped his eyes, nodded, his cheeks glowing with a happy red colour. Paul grinned at him and sat again, moving so that his back met the wall. John got up and fetched his laptop, and then came next to Paul.

"It was about her schedule," he sighed then and Paul nodded, leaning his head in John's shoulder. "I haven't looked at it yet, 'cos I wanted to do it with you."

Paul let out a whiny sound.

"I don't _deserve_ you," he more or less wailed and John chucked, turning his head to give a quick peck on top of Paul's head.

"Good to know," he looked smug and quickly opened his email.

Paul read it in silence, his insides churning. Every bit of his body had seemed to adapt some sort of hating system when it came to Julia. He pressed his lips tightly together before silently pointing towards the attachment. John opened it with a slightly slow double-click and a PDF-file opened in front of their eyes.

They both let simultaneously out an equally horrified and disgusted sound from their throats.

The file had apparently been edited on a tablet of some kind. It was full of red and green markings and bulky handwriting that could only be caused by writing with one's finger without properly zooming in. There were comments like, "here I am free!", "here I have an interview!" and so on. In the bottom of the file there was a sentence, written with pink.

' _I can hardly wait to see you, my darling xxxxxx'_ and several hearts. Many hearts.

John and Paul looked at each other with appalled expressions. Then John exhaled deeply while Paul groaned silently.

"I'm not so sure if this is a good idea," John moaned then and pressed his head against the wall. Paul placed his palm on the man's thigh and spread his fingers there, trying to offer some comfort.

"I don't know how you can be so good with technology and she doesn't even know how to zoom in," Paul shuddered and John chuckled dryly and emptily.

"At least she knows how to do markings on PDF-files."

"I'm not sure I would," Paul muttered and John's lips twitched as he zoomed in on the schedule, to take a proper look at what it contained.

Paul reached to take John's phone from the nightstand and hacked in (er, pressed the right numbers in the right order), opening John's calendar app. They both scrutinised it for a moment before Paul lifted his eyebrows.

"Thursday would be good?"

"Thursday is so soon," John said in a small voice. Paul snorted.

"It's Sunday, now."

"Are you on my side or not?" John shot back and Paul rolled his eyes, muttering 'stupid question'.

“I'm not sure if I am ready to meet her after all,” John said in an empty voice as he eyed at Julia's schedule. “She can hurt me in so many ways.”

Paul would have been ready for Blood And Murder TM  had John not thrown him an enquiring look.

“Does Thursday fit in your schedule, then?” the lad asked and Paul frowned, starting to fish his phone out.

“Er...” he opened his calendar and stared at it, lifting his eyebrows with a surprised expression. “Wow. I actually have the evening shift.”

John groaned and Paul felt slightly amused for the fact that the man seemed much more bothered by Paul's working times than Paul himself.

“Okay,” John closed the file and clicked to compose a new message. “Let's say, Thursday afternoon, then? We can take Ringo's car and then I can drive you to work afterwards.”

Paul nodded. There was no way in hell that he was going to stay out of this meeting.

“I'm glad you understand my basic needs of being involved in this,” he said, trying to make himself sound joyful. John grimaced before laughing softly.

“I wouldn't be able to go through this without you,” he then said, and Paul was melting into a big puddle of heart eyes that worshipped John _so_ hard.

“Oh,” he groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, took John's laptop from him and placed it on the bed before John had a chance to say anything, “I just _can't_ stay mad at you.”

“Excellent,” John grinned and leant in to kiss him. For a moment they just felt each other's mouths leisurely before John pulled back and smiled in a carefree way.

“Then I'm saved, even though I ate those biscuits you told me not to.”

“ _My biscuits_ ,” Paul gasped, grabbed John from his shirt and threw him on the bed, the older man starting to laugh madly. “You'll _pay!!!”_

“What about that third round??” John yelled back at his face and Paul cracked up, let his body shake with open laughter as he moved over John and deliberately sat on top of the man's crotch.

“We'll see about that,” he snickered, smug, and rolled his hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw, haha, if you're interested, there's actually >300 000 words existing of the warrior fic. Because that. is the RP. me and Becca have been writing for a year now. And there's like 300 000 words of it now (it's still going on). This is why I never get anything done (jk jk, im lovin' it (and i also never get anything done)). We've thought of publishing it at some point, so, yeah. 
> 
> Hopefully I can keep up with the weekly updates, but one never knows what life brings. Cheers, y'all! ;D


	7. George Has Dirty Gay Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UN-BETAED**
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca

On Wednesday it was fairly warm, the temperature reaching 12°C. Paul followed the weather from inside the grocery store, feeling more or less anxious.

Tomorrow they would be meeting Julia. He was probably feeling more nervous than he should, and feeling far more hatred than what he should towards a woman he had never met.

John, this far in the week (well, in the half-way of it) was already groaning and moaning about how the weekend could not come fast enough. Paul didn't know why the man complained; he at least _liked_ his job, unlike Paul who did it for the money.

"Excuse me, but where is the toilet paper?" a woman's voice reached him and his face was immediately covered by his patented Shop Assistant -smile®. He turned to face the client and cheerfully pointed her towards the toilet papers.

"Thank you, my lad," the old lady smiled at him and pushed her chart that way. Paul let the smile linger on his lips before dropping it and turning back on putting the biscuit packets on the shelf. He really should buy one before going home. He hadn't forgiven John yet for eating _all_ of his biscuits.

What would Julia be like? How did she look like? Paul had no idea. He wondered whether there would be much resemblance between her and her son, or did John look more like his father... whom no one knew. He wondered if the man even knew he had a son.

He didn't know much about Julia anyroad. She had not made a big name for herself, apparently, but sometimes John would get phone calls from journalists that, according to John, were looking for casual, small scandals to fill their newspapers with. John would never say anything, only blocked the number afterwards. Paul supposed it was for the good.

Would it make a scandal that Julia's son was dating a man? Paul _hoped_ so. That would make her have to think a bit about his _son's_ feelings. What came to him and John, well, he was fairly sure that they could handle it. No one in the UK would care anyway.

The walls were starting to close in by the time he reached the end of his shift and he hurriedly pulled on his jacket, his mind already in the upcoming bus journey. He had not had much time to read during these last few days, but sitting in the bus would be a great opportunity for that. He stumbled out of the store, waving goodbye to his workmates, and hurried to the bus stop. There were not many people, the usual workdays ending a bit later than Paul's. He had had to wake up early today, though.

The bus came and he took a seat in the front, knowing that the back would be filled with noisy students in two stops. He had about twenty minutes, and so he flipped his phone into his hand, opened his browser and started reading.

It was awful how he had got addicted to the story. But it… it was a slow build, and Paul could _sense_ that the first- first sexual interaction was coming closer, and- and he was just really hooked, okay?!?!? OKAY????!

He was not there, not quite _yet_ , when his stop came and he hopped off, thanking the driver. From the bus stop it was a five minute walk to their flat, and Paul crossed the distance quickly. John should not be home yet, and he could maybe- maybe read in the bedroom- he wondered what kind of stuff he and John would be doing in the fic, because in it Paul was such a ball-less virgin that they could not do much without him getting a stroke in the process...

He opened the door and got rid of his long, black jacket that for some reason got everyone always quoting the BBC's Sherlock around him. (He _knew_ it was not as long as that jacket.) He wandered first into the kitchen, drank some water and checked the mail that was laying on the table. Well, at least someone was there in the flat, then.

He walked past George and Ringo's room, and the opened door showed that there was no one there.

He stepped into the living room and slapped hands over his eyes.

“ _GEORGE_ !!!” he shouted from the top of his lungs and peeked behind his fingers, a frown on his face. George stopped moving, his dick deeply buried into Ringo's arse.

“Oh, hi Paul,” Ringo called rather breathlessly from the sofa where he was lying, waving a hand at Paul.

Paul let out a rather blank but terrified noise from his throat, trying not to let his gaze linger on Ringo’s sweaty, bare chest and- and what came then when his eyes forcefully travelled forward.

George looked at him with a glint in his eyes.

“How was the- _ungh_ \- day?” he asked, sweat glistening on his forehead as he started moving again, Ringo letting out a content sigh. Paul coughed.

“Fine. I'll just- you two could've done this in your room,” he said, edging towards the door. George was still looking at him, staring straight at him while Ringo's head fell against the pillow he had under his head.

“What's the fun in that?” George laughed while thrusting with a force that had Ringo groan hoarsely and Paul cringe _really_ uncomfortably.

“See you- guys, you're making dinner for this.”

“So that- ye can- have _fun_ while we're- _workingghh_ -” George started panting and Paul left just as the lad leant down to claim Ringo's mouth as his.

Well. Paul had certainly not been waiting for this.

It had been so long since the last incident like this that he had totally forgotten that this was a possibility. There was a time when this would happen almost every week; now Paul couldn't remember a specific time for when he had last seen this. Probably that was why he had forgotten to be more careful when entering _any_ room in the flat.

As long as they cleaned the sofa, it was okay. At least Paul had to think so, because there was no stopping George and Ringo, and otherwise he would get _really_ uncomfortable sitting on that sofa.

He got into the bedroom, where Creature was curled up on the bed. She meowed at him with a calm expression, her paws having mysteriously disappeared under her body.

“I'm really glad you're not in the living room right now,” Paul said, forcing a small smile on his face. He jumped on the bed (to avoid the Sea of Clothes) and pulled his phone out without much thinking, lying on his stomach and lifting his feet in the air, waving them around.

Creature came slowly towards him and crawled on top of his back, making herself comfortable there. Paul opened the screen lock and brought the phone a bit closer, shifting and adjusting his position so that the softest parts of the blanket were pressing very softly against him and there were no stupid extra lumps anywhere. Anticipation was growing in his stomach. 

_"My Ealdor!" There was a shout and John turned to face Thom, who was bouncing over the celebration area towards them. "The fires are lit! Everything is in order for the celebrations of the God of Fire!"_

_The Song of Fire around them increased at those words and John let out a triumphant laugh._

_"Yes!" he hit his fist in the air, then jumped and pressed his hands on Paul's shoulders with a wild laugh._

_"We have ourselves a celebration!" he exclaimed and then turned to Thom. The warrior whooped, and with the Song singing loudly, they both stepped forward towards each other and embraced, happiness and euphoria filling them._

_John pulled back and grabbed Thom's face with both hands, and then he leant forward and kissed Thom with an open mouth, Thom's hands wrapping around his stomach and squeezing him, and the Song burnt their bodies like fire, and there was nothing in this world that John could not achieve at this very moment._

"What the _fuck_ is he _doing_ ??" Paul hissed at the fic, Creature meowing lazily in response. Just _who_ was this Thom, and _who_ did he think he was??? Kissing with John?!? Paul felt outraged.

_John moaned into Thom's mouth. The Song embraced them and for one fleeting moment, they shared the same mind, just like they once had in bed. Thom's hands tightened around him for a small second, and John let his tongue caress Thom's, sharing the same breath, the same fire._

_They broke away from each other, and clapped hands on each other's shoulders._

_"Till tomorrow's celebrations," Thom said with a large, happy grin on his face, and John nodded with a similar expression on his. His heart was full and the Song, even though more quiet now, was still hanging around them, bringing the fire out of his body. In any other time he would have gone to Thom's tent now and shared his bed, but he knew that Paul would get awfully cold during the night. So he only waved goodbye to his former bedmate from a few weatherturns back, and turned to face Paul with a soft, content smile on his lips._

"TWO-TIMER," Paul yelled with a whisper. "You _fucking-_ "

_"Come, Paul," John brushed past Paul, excitement visible in his expression._

_Paul grit his teeth. He felt something alight in his stomach, something burning and ugly._

_"Fine." He ground out, starting to follow him. He shot a glance Thom's way, that quickly turned into a glare. He knew how he felt now, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. He was jealous of the warrior, and he'd stand by it._

_He was John's, wasn't he? If John wanted someone, he should have Paul. He should work for it. He shouldn't just throw himself at some easy warrior._

"Preach," Paul muttered, gritting his own teeth. He couldn't believe John would do that! "That _fucker."_

He sure was glad that the real John seemed to be somewhat _very_ loyal to Paul, in these days avoiding all kind of photos of all kind of naked women. Paul didn't know what to do if he saw John kiss someone else, unless it was in the middle of a game or George.

Well, no. Seeing him kiss George would be disgusting nevertheless ( _HAD_ been). He shivered at the mere thought ( _mEMORY)_ and returned to glaring at his phone, agreeing with himself in every bit. 

_"You have an interesting habit of kissing other people in front of me," Paul said tightly as they reached the tent, mixed feelings burning in his stomach. "I understand you use kissing as a wish of luck, but that was no such a thing."_

_John raised his eyebrows as he stepped inside the tent, waited for Paul to come in as well, and then stopped in the middle of the pelt and fell graciously straight down, his legs crossing under him. When he was seated comfortably, he raised his face and tilted his head to the side, cracking his neck with a sigh._

_"During the celebrations of the God of Fire, people get together. We share a passion that burns inside us, like flames. The presence of the god inflames us, and our emotions get wilder. Any emotion that you have now feels like it is burning inside. Tomorrow, also, it is common that... people bed each other. Warriors especially," John said carefully, now examining Paul's facial expressions closely._

”Now _that,_ if something, sounds like an _excuse._ Fight, Paul. Do not listen to that _wanker.”_

_Paul sighed and crossed his arms. He knew he wouldn't freak out if he saw people having sex. John having sex? Might bother him._

_"Can't you understand how I feel?" He mumbled. "Fidelity is not- should not be a cultural 'if'. I will not even consider being with you if I cannot trust that you will stay with me and be faithful."_

_He walked past John, fire deep in his muscles from something beyond the weak exertion. He pulled off his coat and overshirt idly, took off his boots and went over to the bed._

_John raised his eyebrows. That had sounded almost like Paul wanted to lay with him._

"No," Paul hissed, "you're a _cheating_ bastard. There's no way I would-"

_"I have said that I desire you," the warrior said, his tone low now. "You must understand, though, that amongst us, only those who are pledged to each other are only with each other. We are free people, and if I desired to bed someone who had a regular bedmate, there would be nothing wrong with it. The fact that I wish to bed you does not change the fact that I, as a part of this culture, can lie with anyone I want, who wants it as well. I have decided to live with you and treat you as an equal. I could have done otherwise," he sighed and got up, pulling off his clothes before getting on the bed as well, crawling next to Paul._

_The man sighed, trying to relax in the warmth that radiated from the bed and John._

_"You always said you could've done worse." Paul rubbed his eyes and spoke softly. "Well, why haven't you? If I've been so inept, so annoying and burdening since you got me?"_

_He knew he was in dangerous waters._

_"Why have you not just done what you threaten to? Why do you not beat me or rape me or even kill me? You cannot act like you have no obligations simply because you do not mistreat me. You have told me, time and time again, that you do not wish to hurt. I am thankful you do not. But if you truly want to make a partner of me, you cannot just fall back on that excuse."_

_"How do I do it, then? How would you want to be mine," John muttered. Paul's eyes held his and his own darkened. "I do not know what you want. With what I know, you do not even want to be here. How could I ever possibly make you want_ _**me** _ _, who is a warrior, a creature of the ground, someone who once played with the idea of cutting your head off and getting_ _**pleasure** _ _from it."_

_His tone was deep and then, without any warning, he flipped them over and loomed over Paul, holding the man against the bed._

_Paul cried out in surprise at the movement, struggling at the feeling of John's weight on top of him. It was useless, however, and John's grip on his wrists was like iron._

Paul sucked in his breath, his body going taunt. Was this it? Was it going to happen now? What would John (that lying, cheating, shitting, monstrous, betraying _scumbag_ -) do-

_"The question is as well, do I_ _**want** _ _to wait? Do I want to make this pleasurable to you?" John murmured and leant forward, so that there were only four inches between his and Paul's faces._

_"Do I have a reason to make this difficult for me and easy for you? Hmm?" his breath ghosted over Paul's eyes and his hold of Paul's wrists tightened._

_"Why would I wait to have you, Paul?" he tilted his head, eyes now dark as night, flame burning in them._

"Ah, _fuck_ ," Paul bit his lip. He could see the scene in his head, and he was already getting half-hard. What was this bloody piece of fiction doing to him?? He had not meant for this to happen! He had just wanted to see what kind of _rubbish_ people wrote about him and John.

He shifted a bit and the cat on top of his back slid down rather calmly, nuzzling at Paul's side before getting on her feet and jumping on top of a dresser. Paul figured Creature sensed that now was a good time to leave the human.

He swallowed and returned his gaze on the text, his breathing quickening in silent anticipation.

_Paul looked up at John's eyes, and immediately wished he hadn't. They were dark, burning, only inches from his face. They thrilled him, and for a few moments he was simply panting, tense as a trapped animal._

_He swallowed hard and looked up, his every bolt of strength useless. He thought for a while, trying to desperately gather his thoughts. He knew his next words would either make him or break him._

_"Because you cannot do things easily." Paul ventured lowly after a few minutes, letting John's eyes burn into his. "You are desperate for someone to say no, because otherwise there is no respect for you. No liking for a veritable prince getting everything handed to him."_

_He took more deep breaths, wriggling in John's hold. The feeling was starting in his throat, this time, dipping tendrils into his stomach and making him relax into the tight hold._

_"Tell me, Paul," John let his head fall between Paul's shoulder and ear, held his lips just a breath's away from Paul's skin, "do I look, now, like I_ _**wanted** _ _you to say 'no'?"_

Paul groaned, his head falling between his biceps.

"Shhhiiiit," he let out a moan, his hips jerking helplessly against the bed. Everything felt so real in his head: the heavy smell of leather in the tent. Sweat and smoke wrapped all around the air. John's hands against his wrists, his fingers calloused and his breath touching Paul's skin-

"I'm gonna _kill_ John for this," he whined, and then, for his utter horror, there was a voice behind him.

"What did I do now?"

Paul's head whipped around, his eyes bulging and mouth gaping open.

John was standing in the doorway, one hand on the door handle, staring at him with eyebrows raised.

Paul's whole mind felt like the feeling of writing on a typewriter, but the ink was empty and no matter how hard one punched the letters there was no other trace on the paper but blankness, until the letters started getting imprinted in the paper because of the constant hits.

He closed his mouth and opened it again, nothing else but a small, hitch-pitched and almost inaudible whiff coming out. John looked at him, then glanced down at the phone, then back at Paul.

“You turned on?” he asked, almost casually. Paul gasped, panicked, and rolled off the bed.

“Ah,” John said blankly, still staring, while Paul lay on the floor with the basic need to move away before the Sea (!!!!!! shouted the chorus) drowned him.

“Ouch,” he said breathlessly, grabbed the bed with his left hand and pulled himself up, his hair sticking to every possible direction. John's confused stare continued and then he slowly lifted his other hand up, bringing a shopping bag into Paul's view.

“I brought you more biscuits?” he said in a questioning tone and Paul let out a groan just from dragging himself back on the bed. He fell down on it with a thud and a moan and stayed there, on his stomach, glaring at John.

“Oh, c'mon Paul,” John sighed, “whatever you were doing, it's fine. Don't get mad again.”

Paul rolled on his back, eyed at John with a calculating expression and then lifted one eyebrow.

“Finish me off,” he said, voice full of joy. John spluttered and then started laughing.

“Okay, okay. How would my dear darling want it today?”

Paul shot him a small grin, swallowed dryly, and then as casually as he could he placed his hands on both sides of his head. John's gaze followed them before flicking down towards his crotch. Paul felt his spine shudder at that look.

“Like you were in _control_ ,” Paul said, and his voice was hoarse, suddenly full of need, and John sucked in his breath through his teeth.

“ _Right_ ,” he said, a frown breaking his forehead while his eyes seemed to darken a bit. “The dear darling shall get what he wants just as soon as I get my coat off.”

He left the doorway and Paul quickly grabbed his phone, closed the browser and threw the phone somewhere on the floor, knowing that it would survive as the Sea (!!!!!!!! the chorus) would soften up the landing.

He swallowed, his body growing hot. Maybe, just maybe he could get John into some sort of twisted roleplay, some day.

In the next century, probably. _  
_

***~**~***

They pulled on some comfortable evening clothes after the sex. There was tension in the air; not between them, but _shared_ tension as reality started slowly coming back.

Paul did the best he could. He warmed old food for them and the four of them ate together, sharing jokes and laughing, just like always. After the dinner he took John into the living room and cuddled up with him on the sofa while they watched their weekly fill of Important British Drama Series. George and Ringo joined them and in the end they all piled up on the sofa, with Paul and Ringo squished into each end.

“What do you think will happen tomorrow?” Ringo asked after one episode of Important British Drama Series ended and George switched the channels to where a new episode of Another Important British Drama Series was just beginning.

John sighed and shrugged as well as he could from his flattened squashed position. Paul turned his head slightly, catching the man's eye.

“Well, either Paul will murder Julia, I will burst into tears, or I will murder Julia, or all three,” John said, a small smile in the corner of his lips. Paul gave a large smile in return, although it felt one of the most fake he had ever done in his whole life.

“Say, do the tears come before the police takes Paul away or after that?”

They all chuckled at that, John's hand pressing into Paul's hair.

“Why, after of course,” John hummed, and then caught up with the opening tune of Another Important British Drama Series. The others joined him soon and they bellowed the tune out, each one taking a different instrument to imitate.

Paul had often thought they sounded good while singing jokingly together. This time it was not so. It sounded horrid. He prayed for their neighbours' mental health and went on to imagine himself as a violin.

Afterwards they laughed, and it felt just like any other evening. Paul would have thought that John had become distracted enough, if it wasn't for the occasional tensing of the man every time the main character mentioned his mother in the episode.

Later on they fell into bed, clutching at each other, and Paul stayed awake, holding John against him as the older man slept. Now, it was all about counting hours till the meeting.

***~**~***

John's leather-covered hands were stiffly holding the wheel and his expression was tense as he drove them through the centre of London. Paul was sitting on the seat next to him, absentmindedly staring out of the window. The radio was on, blasting out news about the US and Cuba trying to restore their diplomatic relations after 50 years of hostility, and the weather was as warm as yesterday.

Paul's fingers were drumming a pattern on his own thigh, distracting John slightly from driving. He felt like a wooden board; or at least he currently had as many feelings as one. Meaning that he had no feelings. He was empty. No emotions.

“ _According to President Obama, the US and Cuba have chosen to 'cut loose the shackles of the past'...”_

“Huh,” Paul deadpanned, his voice full of distant wonder mixed with blankness. “Things are happening.”

John hummed, stopping at a red light, and took his hands from the wheel momentarily, adjusting his gloves slightly. He glanced at Paul before returning his gaze to the light.

“Think this is good?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound casual, like it was not filled with nerves. He saw Paul turn his head to look at him.

“I'm not entirely sure it could be bad, y'know,” the younger man said with a small smile before sighing, and they returned to the silence.

John masterfully zigzagged through the centre, the radio filling up the empty space in the car. Some years back when he first got his driver's licence he was not that good at driving, but after living several years in London he had improved _a lot_.

Paul pointed him at a parking lot and John got them there in one piece, miraculously. It was lunch time, and there were cars and people swarming about. John pulled out of the car, Paul following behind, and they stopped to look at each other.

“Are you sure about this?” Paul asked, his voice gentle and careful. John shrugged.

“I kinda wanna see her, I guess, at this point,” he said, in a voice too small, but Paul seemed to get it. He walked around the car, grabbed John's hand and started pulling him towards the Cornerstone Café, a favourite of the locals and inregular visitors as well. It was a charming café in the corner of an old building, and there was also free wifi. Which was gear.

They were supposed to meet Julia in front of the café and then enter together, and as they neared the place John felt his palms starting to sweat inside the gloves.

“Paul-” he called abruptly and Paul stopped immediately, looking at John with tension around his eyes. John swallowed and squeezed Paul's hand into his.

“It'll be fine,” Paul said, although he didn't sound so sure at all. “Imagine that she's like cleaning the bedroom; a necessary thing to be done even though it's not nice at all.”

“Cleaning our room is different,” John muttered, laying his gaze on the pavement under their feet. “It's necessary to do it to stay _alive_.”

“I thought of asking Jane to hoover it one day,” Paul said, his voice sounding like he was on a totally different planet. John swallowed; somehow the mention of Jane disturbed him. He didn't want to put his finger onto it now. Something about it nagged the back of his head, though, rather persistently. It was not a… new feeling?

“Sacrificing her instead of me?” he asked with raised eyebrows and Paul snorted, a small chuckle escaping his mouth.

“I'm pretty sure that she's fierce enough to conquer the Sea,” he laughed and John joined in,

(!!!!!!!! chORUS)

marvelling at his boyfriend. Last time Julia had visited John had been so moody that he had not been able to concentrate on anything, except yelling at Cynthia, Mimi, and his mother.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe Julia would be different.

Something in his head warned that it was not so, though.

“C'mon,” he sighed, wrapped his fingers more properly around Paul's, tugged the man's hand into his own pocket and started walking like that. Paul followed, stepping closer to him both to show physical and mental supporting. “Let's go meet the birthgiver.”

Paul laughed softly and that was all John needed to make it through the day.

They arrived at the Cornerstone Café, both looking around them with suspicious eyes. John had put on his contacts this morning, even though he usually didn't use them (at the flat, he just stumbled around without his glasses and hoped he didn't kick the cat), and Paul was wearing his This Means Business -expression.

John was not sure at all anymore if it had been a good idea to take Paul with him. The man seemed to radiate murder, and John would have been touched if he didn’t fear that Paul would actually do it. He guessed that he had to hold onto Paul's hand extra hard.

They had waited for some time when both of them spotted her at the same time.

She was wearing a creamy coloured duffle jacket, a red skirt under it and in her feet she had knee-high leather boots with high heels. A dark red scarf around her neck seemed to emphasise the auburn colour of her hair, and John heard Paul swallow.

“It's gotta be her, right?” the man then asked with a rather appalled voice. John nodded stiffly.

“Yeah.” He had to admit as well that Julia was quite a sight. “That's her.”

“Uh,” Paul's hold of his hand tightened. “You've got her hair.”

John shuddered and nodded stiffly.

“Yeah,” he said again as Julia started looking around, her lips holding a bright red lipstick. She had a classy, professional look to her; John had always, _always_ thought it was just because she could make herself feel more special like that. Probably it was such a part of her personality that she didn't even realise it anymore.

“Do you want her to notice you first?” Paul asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the woman that was checking her phone now, glancing around her every now and then. They watched how she put the phone back into her bag and looked at the café sign, a pleased expression on her face.

John almost felt like running away, his heart clenching uncomfortably. Wounds that were supposed to be long gone were now opening up again, and his hold of Paul's hand tightened.

“Nah,” he said, his voice overflowing with hidden emotions. Paul squeezed his hand back. “I can't let her win, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

John shook his shoulders, took a deep breath and started walking towards his _mother_ , Paul tightly by his side.

They were about ten yards away from her when her eyes landed on John.

A slow smile started spreading on her lips, but then her gaze moved onto Paul and her expression froze momentarily. John saw from the corner of his eye how Paul lifted his chin up a bit, looking neutral to anyone but John. He knew that the younger man was fuming.

“Julia,” he said, his throat suddenly feeling much more narrow than what it really was. He stepped close enough, stopped, and nodded his head.

No shaking hands. No hugs. A nod was all he could give to her.

“Hello, John!” Julia exclaimed, now apparently forgetting that Paul was there. “It is so amazing to see you! And that café is so cute! It's been too long since I was in London, everything feels so nostalgic!”

She came forward and without John being able to do anything, gave him kisses on both cheeks.

John felt sick in his stomach as Julia stepped away. He didn't want to remind her that she had never, ever spent so much time in London that she could become that nostalgic about the city. She had lived in Liverpool, got pregnant with John in Liverpool, given birth to John in Liverpool, lived four hellish (from John's point of view) years in Liverpool, and had then buggered off to Hollywood, leaving John _in Liverpool_.

_'Maybe she should visit Mary and Jim. She'd be destroyed in a minute,'_ he thought while Julia's voice poured over him, not soothing like a mother's should be, but irritating and disturbing. He was holding a death grip on Paul's hand and did not even realise it before Paul shifted and plastered the _biggest,_ most fake Shop Assistant -Smile® ever known to human kind on his face, offering his _left_ hand towards Julia.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am,” he said in the coldest voice possible, and John felt tremors run through his spine. Paul was fucking _terrifying_. “I am Paul McCartney, John's _boyfriend_ ,”

Paul could have frozen the fucking river Thames with his tone.

“I've been _really_ looking forward to this meeting.”

To John's astonishment, Julia actually stopped talking and listened. She looked at Paul for a moment, at his left hand, and then lifted her own and grasped at Paul's (John noted that her gloves were dark red leather, matching her scarf and dress)(Jesus).

“Pleasure is all mine,” she said with a voice that sounded a bit weird to John's ears. He had definitely not heard that kind of an emotion from Julia before. What was it? Hesitation? Carefulness?

“I suggest,” Paul continued with that utterly frightening smile still on him, “that we move inside. Me and John have not eaten lunch yet-” _a blatant lie “_ -and it is getting rather cold-” _an outright lie_ “-and, unfortunately, we cannot stay that long as John needs to drive me to my work-”

John's head was spinning with the smooth way that Paul was lying straight to Julia's face. He rarely learnt new things about his boyfriend anymore, not big stuff anyway, but this was _huge_ . Where had this suave, graceful and _sharp_ man been for the whole year??? It was like Paul was a totally different person.

_'He did study English at the Uni,'_ John thought, unable to say anything before Julia smiled widely, her face lighting up.

“Oh, yes, I understand. Let's get inside, then!”

She went before them, and as they walked towards the café doors Paul turned to look at John momentarily, raising a careful eyebrow.

John could only stare back, feeling something like nausea in the pit of his stomach. Because this was starting to resemble too much of the other times that his mother had come over.

Her smile and bright face would always make his chest hurt like this, then. No matter _how_ grown-up he was.

Julia was beautiful, and shined like the sun whenever she smiled. She radiated a certain sort of constant happiness, which came from her inability to care about the world around her -or at least from her inability to mind inconvenient things in her life, such as John. Her smile reminded John of a woman who could have been his mother, but who had left with a smile on her face, had ruffled his hair and said “Mummy's gonna be famous” as her last words before leaving, _never_ coming back, no matter how much John prayed, begged and screamed for her.

He wondered if Paul could see these thoughts from his eyes.

Shit, they had barely started this meeting and he already felt like breaking, felt like starting to _yell_ at Julia, and at Paul, and at _everyone_ who dared to exist on his path today.

He squeezed Paul's hand and the lad nodded slightly before turning again, pulling John inside the café.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some things to say but I am so tired that I can't even think. It's 2:40 AM here and I am up just to give you your gay fiction. ugh. oh yes! somebody stop george. somebody _please_
> 
> As a sidenote, I hate Julia. Srry. Also, I don't really think she was airheaded like this. As a sidenote sidenote check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_
> 
> Also, The Sea!! Beware The Sea!!!!!!
> 
> (!! chORRUSs!!!!!!the!!)


	8. George Has More Dirty Gay Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UN-BETAED**
> 
>  
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_

John rarely drank coffee, but now he decided to take one, ordering “the purest and blackest coffee that you could ever find on this Earth”. The barista had thrown him one look of sympathy before nodding and getting on the job. Paul had been mildly less violent with his order: Black tea with sugar and milk. They got their drinks and carefully made their way towards the table that Julia had snatched, sitting there like she owned the whole place (or at least the table. Or the chair she sat on).

They sat down and at that moment, Julia opened her mouth and started talking about her new film. John tried to listen, honestly, tried to make himself look like he was interested in his mother's life, but Paul's bitchy expression made it really hard to concentrate. The thrumming in his ears was getting louder every passing moment, and just when he felt like everything was going to snap, Paul's fingers curled around his thigh.

He turned his eyes towards his boyfriend shortly before looking down at his coffee. John could do this; Paul was there with him.

He had wanted to talk with Julia about the reason how she could leave like that. He wanted to know _why_ it had happened, and why she had ignored the fact that she had a son for all these years. But now he could not get the words out of his mouth. Even with Paul's support, he felt like a child stumbling along a sand-filled ground, not being able to hold his balance, constantly near falling, and utterly exhausted after a small while of trying.

Paul was staring intently at Julia, John noted after a while. It was not a normal "I am the boyfriend of your son" -stare, but more pressing. If John had been at the receiving end of that stare, he would have probably started to sweat under no time. It was a wonder how Julia had not noticed it yet.

"It is really wonderful! The director told me that I have a delicate, good touch on the character. My manager is really pleased, and you know how difficult it is to get roles at this age, being a woman-"

John supposed it would have been interesting to hear Julia talk about acting in Hollywood had he been anyone else. For any other person Julia would have been only talking about her job. For John, Julia was actively ignoring the fact that in front of her sat her _son_ , whom she had not seen in ten years. Why on Earth would she have a reason to ask about John's life as well? Hahahah. John could die on laughter.

He had known when agreeing to this meeting (no matter how accidentally) that Julia had not changed, and probably never would. He had known that Julia's ego went over anything else, and that he had no hopes of repairing his relationship with his mother. Not that he really wanted it, at this point. It just would have been... nice, to have some contact with her.

Paul's stare had turned into a glare, and John noticed Julia's eyes glancing his way. He wasn't sure whether his mother had noticed the icy wind that blew from the direction of his boyfriend, but seemingly nothing changed.

Except five minutes later she turned her head on John, tilted it and smiled in a way that made something crack _in_ John.

"So, John, what is it that you do now?"

John couldn't believe his ears. He was momentarily rendered utterly speechless, because he couldn't remember the last time that his mother would have inquired about _his_ life.

He opened his mouth, but made no sound. He could feel Paul's hold of his thigh tighten.

Right. Yes. Talking. Sounds and stuff. Easy-peasy.

"I-" he started, but stopped and coughed, clearing his throat. Okay. New try.

"I work in a shop," he said, feeling stupid and realising the situation again: He was explaining his job to his _mother,_ who had no clue what her _son_ did for a living. "We sell all kind of electrical and mechanical equipment," he swallowed and wondered when Julia's mouth couldn't stay shut anymore and she would start talking about something that Really Did Not Interest John.

Julia just nodded, that bright smile still on her face. Then she glanced Paul again and returned her eyes on John.

"Do you still do music?" she asked, and John was surprised again that Julia would remember a small detail like that... But then again, it might just be the only one she knew about John.

He shook his head.

"No, except for the singing in the shower -bit."

Julia laughed and for a moment the area around them seemed to fill with sunshine and glitter. Paul reached for his tea and sipped it, eyeing the situation with a slightly scary look. John didn't know what he was supposed to think right now.

Maybe he should take his chances when he had them.

"I currently live with Paul and two of our mates, George and Ringo," he said carefully. Julia looked thoughtful.

"Is George the skinny boy?"

Paul snorted at that and John's lips curled slightly upwards.

"Yeah. In these days he looks a bit more like a balanced twig than a skeleton."

Paul's hand on his thigh jerked and John glanced at the man, who was seemingly holding back a laugh behind his tea mug. John smiled softly at him and looked back to Julia, finding her examining them with a slightly confused expression.

"I didn't think you were gay," she then said with a light voice. "I'm slightly disappointed, though, because now I can't come into your wedding."

John paused. He saw from the corner of his eye how Paul's forehead became creased with a frown, and the younger man lowered the mug slightly, looking bewildered. The small, hesitant good feeling that he'd had a second ago disappeared.

"What do you mean?" Paul asked, and John started at his rather harsh and, dare he say it, _rude_ tone. Julia didn't seem to mind though, or didn't notice; only waved at her hand in the air nonchalantly.

"Oh, because gays can't get married, you know?"

John and Paul glanced at each other, astonishment on both of their faces.

"Er," John said slowly, looking at Paul with an expression that said 'please bear with me'. "We can, now."

It was the first time he'd really identified himself as a gay man (if one did not count that one moment in the bathroom), but for some reason it felt... relieving. To say it out loud. Paul looked hesitant but nodded, stroking his thumb against John's thigh.

John was gay as hell and fucking _proud_ of it. At least in front of Julia.

"They passed the law last year," Paul frowned. "It came into force on March."

Julia looked surprised, if not only for a moment. Then she sighed, John getting a feeling that she was already falling into her own biased world.

"Oh, well," she said like she didn't really care, "you can't do it in a church. What's the point in a wedding if it's not in a church?"

Paul visibly gritted his teeth and John visibly shuddered.

"Not everyone wants to get married in a church," he said tightly, knowing that if he and Paul _ever_ got married, it sure as hell would _not_ happen in a _church_. Paul seemed to think the same, war flashbacks in his eyes as he was probably remembering relatives’ weddings.

Julia smiled, but John could see that she really, _really_ disagreed.

"Why would you be gay anyway?" she asked then, her voice still that holding that same, care-free note in it. John's vision was starting to twist at the sides. "You can't even have children."

_'Are these really the kind of things you wanna discuss with you son?'_ played around and around in his head. The was something ugly in his stomach, and as calmly as he could, he lowered his hand from the table and grasped Paul's fingers into his own. He couldn't believe it- fifteen minutes with Julia and all he wanted was to never hear from her again. Julia was even worse than Mimi -Mimi knew _exactly_ what to say in an order to make John mad, but John _could_ believe (in his dreams) that she still cared about John in her own bizarre way. With Julia it was just- she didn't think, or care _at all_.

She was what one could truly call _ignorant_ . And also naive as _hell_. Didn't she realise that she had just with her one single opinion showed how unequal this world still was when it came to the mindset of the population?

"I-I didn't choose-" John started, his words feeling faint in his dry throat. He decided not to dwell on that comment and moved onto the next one. "W-we can always adopt, you know."

"It's not the same," Julia said with wide eyes. "How could anything compare to the lovely feeling of holding your baby for the first time in your arms, looking at them and knowing that it was _you_ who did it? Oh," she sighed, "how I miss the times when you were small."

A sharp intake from Paul made John register the strength that he was using for squeezing the younger man's hand. He loosened his hold a bit, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

_'Yeah. Those times when you even weren't properly there,'_ the thought thrummed against his forehead and he vaguely heard that Julia had started talking about Hollywood and her tour in London again. Paul's was squeezing the handle of his tea mug, his gaze burning and terrifying.

John chucked down his coffee in one go and felt pretty sure that he could not drive home afterwards.

'Why did you leave me?'

'Why was I so unimportant?'

'Do you ever talk about me? Think about me? Am I ever a part of your life?'

The things he did not want to think about were playing around in his head, not giving him a moment’s peace. Paul’s hand was tightly holding his, and he let himself be comforted by that.

Paul, at that point, turned to look at John with eyes that told of buried fury. John was glad that at some point he had apparently learnt to read Paul’s expressions so well that he could understand what the man meant only by looking at him.

_Can I stab her to death?_

John pressed his lips tighter together.

_Please don’t. You’d go to jail._

_Fuck that. I’m so mad._

_Despite what every movie thinks, murder is not sexy._

_Spoil sport._

John sighed quietly and turned his gaze back on Julia. Paul was still radiating Sexy Murder Aura(™) right next to him, but John chose to ignore it.

He would _have_ to be the adult in this situation. But this- this was so much worse than ever talking to Mimi.

But he had lived through the rocky start of he and Paul’s relationship, and had managed to survive he and Cynthia’s breakup, and had lived _years_ with Mimi. Surely he could bear one chat with his mother?

”Julia,” he started, hesitating and a bit unsure. His hands were starting to shake, and Paul squeezed his fingers tighter. John tried to think of things that he wanted to ask from his mother, aside from the obvious, child-like moans. Nothing came to his mind.

It took a while from Julia to notice that John had spoken. Her eyes turned to him and a slow smile started lightening up her expression.

”Have you ever thought-” John almost choked on his words, but managed to keep himself in check. ”-That maybe you could have started doing your acting career here, in England?”

Julia frowned.

”Why would I have done that? Hollywood is the right place for dreams to come true!”

John sighed.

”Well, you could’ve been closer to _me_?” he almost spat the words out, but his tone rested civil. Paul sipped at his tea, silently, with an expression that told John the man knew how close John was to breaking.

He didn’t know whether he actually wanted to hear what Julia had to say about his words.

Julia didn’t seem to even get it.

”But Hollywood is where I wanted! Besides,” Julia looked chastising and John _hated_ it more than anything ever, ”I asked from you if you wanted to come with me.”

”From a _five_ year old,” John gritted his teeth. ”If I wanted to leave _everything_ in my life behind.”

”You said yes,” Julia looked maybe even a bit accusing now. John felt like he was going to lose his mind. ”But then Mimi came in between and said that Hollywood is not a good place for a boy to grow up. She took you away from me.”

Somehow John had a feeling that Mimi had only wanted to protect him. And she had probably been right, then.

Personally, he didn’t remember saying yes. He remembered that he hadn’t said _anything_. And Julia had put the words into his mouth, words that he had never ever wanted to say.

He was so glad, at the moment, that Mimi existed. Even though the old hag pretended to be dead.

”Have you went to see her?” John asked, trying to navigate away from a subject that he could not talk about. Julia flicked her hair and sipped at her tea graciously, as if she was waiting for a paparazzi to come tumbling down on her with a camera any moment.

”Oh, yes,” Julia said in a cheerful voice. ”She wouldn’t even mention your name, though.”

Right. Everything that John had ever wanted to hear. He had half waited for it, though.

”She does that,” he opted to say, regretting that he had already drank all of his coffee. His hands were definitely shaking slightly.

Julia sighed dramatically. (Everything she did seemed dramatical, though. It was terrible.)

”I don’t understand why she would do that. Seems so cruel to me.”

Paul’s hand was the only thing that kept John in that café at that moment.

***~**~***

"I can't _believe_ she'd say those things!!!" Paul was fuming, dragging John behind him. His hair was blown in the slight wind and John knew that the lad's eyes were full of lightning at the moment.

He felt defeated, and frustrated, and _sad_.

"That's how she is," John said quietly, looking at his free hand absentmindedly. His fingers were shaking, and he didn't know whether it was the coffee or the Julia effect. Perhaps a bit of both.

"A _slag_ ," Paul hissed, earning a couple of disgusted glances from people passing them. John felt his throat tighten. It was rare to see Paul this worked up, though. It would have been entertaining had the situation been anything else.

"Yeah," he muttered, lowered his head and kept his eyes on the pavement that swept under his feet. Paul was keeping up one hell of a pace, and John could keep up only by holding onto Paul's hand tightly. It seemed that the other wanted to get away from the centre as fast as possible.

"I can't believe- how could she- that bloody _cunt-_ "

John was somehow glad that someone was voicing the thoughts he couldn't say. The last time he had said the exact same things, only to George. It somehow eased his mind to know that there was someone who understood so well.

Still...

"Paul," he mumbled, "think you could hold it down until we're back home?"

Paul's head snapped around to face him, his eyes wide and full of wrath. John looked back tiredly, his lips tightly pressing together.

Paul's pace slowed down a bit and his gaze softened.

"Yeah. Sure."

They got into the car and John sat still for a moment, staring at the wheel as silence filled the vehicle. Then Paul huffed, crossing his arms.

"Okay, well, that's done then. Now I just gotta survive one evening shift."

John groaned and his head fell forward, meeting the wheel with a thud that sounded as desperate as John was feeling.

"The _evening_ _shift_ ," he moaned and Paul started laughing into his hand, his body jumping up and down next to John.

John was feeling a bit better already.

***~**~***

"So how'd it go?" Ringo leant forward and clasped his hands together, the two-decked bus leaning dangerously to the right when it made a slightly too strong turn to the left. John grabbed the seat in front of him and held onto it before regaining his balance.

"I'd rather not talk about it at all," he huffed and let go of the seat. They were sitting almost at the back, on the top deck. John had taken Paul to his work and had then proceeded to pace back and forth in the living room until Ringo suggested that they'd go shopping, because they were running out of everything else but spaghetti.

They had decided to take a bus to the other part of the city (because going to the nearest store was just boring), had done the groceries swiftly, only arguing over whether to take any fruits, and now they were on their way home. They hadn't changed many words about the whole Julia subject, but now Ringo couldn't apparently stay quiet anymore. John kind of understood; had he been anyone else, he would have bubbled with interest as well.

"If you close it in it'll do no good," Ringo said wisely in a very wise voice that made him seem way too wise. John grimaced and shrugged.

"Now ain't that a bite, mate," he grumbled and Ringo chuckled quietly. They fell into silence to withstand another sharp turn before Ringo raised his eyebrows at John, waiting.

"Seriously?" John sighed. "It was a nightmare. She hasn't changed a bit, and I'm pretty sure she never will. If Paul hadn't been there I would've bolted after the first three minutes."

"What'd she say?" Ringo looked rather sad, but then again he always had that certain sad look in his eyes whenever he wasn't smiling. John shrugged.

"This and that. All the things unnecessary."

He paused and then chuckled dryly.

"She did say she was sorry for not being able to come to my wedding, seeing as now I can't get married."

Ringo looked totally bewildered at that.

" _What?"_ he exclaimed and a few people glanced their way. John corrected the position of the shopping bag at his feet.

"Yeah," he muttered. "She also said something about us not being able to have children either."

Ringo's eyes were wide and then a frown broke through his forehead.

"What on _e_ _arth..."_

"I'm kinda wondering that, too."

The bus rushed through an intersection with yellow lights and accelerated before stopping abruptly on a bus stop. People scrambled out with relieved expressions while others came in to replace them, looking still serene with a healthy glow on their cheeks. Soon those faces as well would become something between green and grey.

"The bus driver is going at it again," Ringo said absentmindedly. Behind them, to the last row came now a man that was probably slightly older than them, sporting short, brown hair and a leather jacket. John was slightly conscious of the man glancing at them, but paid no mind to it.

"Oh yeah, you take this line every day," John raised an eyebrow and Ringo chuckled.

"When I'm not using the underground, yeah. I know that he won't crash even though it always comes pretty bloody close when turning to the Upper Wickham Lane."

John shuddered and nodded, grimacing.

"Yeah. That was- that was a _turn_."

Ringo stayed quiet for a while and then turned back to look at John.

"But what about adoption-"

John shook his head.

"According to her, nothing wins holding your little baby in your hands and thinking that _you_ did it."

"That's just utterly idiotic!" Ringo said, his voice heating up. "When she has-"

"I know," John groaned. Julia had no _rights_ so say such a thing!

The bus stopped abruptly again and John wrapped his fingers around the shopping bag's handle to keep it up. Ringo looked calm and well, like, he had known exactly that that was going to happen.

"Whatever," John sighed then, "it's not like I gotta mind her anymore. I can live happily ever after with Paul without ever paying any attention to her and her twisted opinions."

The other man nodded, turning to look out of the window. The bus lurched forward and John almost felt his neck crack at the sudden, forceful movement. Ringo didn't even budge.

"You've learnt to tighten your neck muscles at the exactly right time, you bastard," John hissed and reached up to rub at his neck. Ringo chuckled, his earthy laugh a welcome sound to John's over-stressed nerves.

"O' course. Mate, I'd be _dead_ if I hadn't-"

"Hey."

Ringo paused and he and John stared at each other with small, confused expressions, before turning their heads to look at the man that was sitting alone behind them. He was eyeing at John with his face full of... hatred? Disgust?

John frowned and tilted his head.

"Yeah?" he asked and glanced at Ringo again, who shared it with him. His face held a certain carefulness, and John was getting alerted. It seemed that Ringo had a certain idea what this was all about.

The man sneered and John was getting gradually more confused, up until the man opened his mouth again.

"You're a queer, in'cha?"

John's eyes widened and then he breathed out an understanding sound. He got it now.

"Er, well," he started and looked at Ringo again, who was frowning Very Powerfully. "I- well, um?"

The man's face twisted into a much bigger expression full of disdain.

"Knew it, ya poof. Bloody _nancy_."

John grimaced uneasily. He had feared that a day like this would come sooner or later, but he had wished it wouldn't be on a day like _this_.

He wasn't terribly afraid, though, seeing as they were in a bus full of people, and with Ringo by his side. The man could be terrifying if he wanted to (he never wanted to)(John had never seen him be terrifying, to be honest)(he hoped Ringo would be terrifying now). Dealing with a homophobic local was not on the top of his list at the moment.

At an earlier age, he would have probably lashed out and taken a defensive stage. Hell, maybe even a few years back. But now he felt just too tired, too old and too _gay_ for this shit.

"Yeah, sorry if it bothers you," he said nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows. Ringo pressed his lips tightly together, still holding that careful expression. John wasn't sure, but it looked like the lad's face was getting slightly more pale.

"Bothers me? Ginger beers like ya make me wanna _puke_ !" The man spit the words through his teeth, looking like every bit of John's whole existence made him _disgusted_.

John, somehow, _really_ didn't like the feeling. He swallowed and let his face fall into a stern but passive mask.

"Yeah, and people like you make me wanna puke." He watched how the man's face fell into deep rage. "I'd high five you but I really don't wanna lower myself to your level."

Ringo snorted, almost as if starting a laugh, He quickly got even more serious, though, and then the man exploded.

"Wot're ya sayin'?! Ya thumb-suckin' bastard, ya prolly 'ave AIDS too-!"

He moved forward as if to grab John, but at the same time the bus turned to the left from a roundabout and both John and the man had to grab their seats in an order to still sit on them.

_'Five minutes!_ _**Five minutes** _ _!'_ John chanted in his head as he recognised the roundabout. Ringo eyed at the man with silent fury in his eyes, and John guessed that that would have been a better approach to the situation. Answering to the man only fuelled his unjustified hate and anger.

He regained his balance approximately at the same time as the man and turned to warily look at him. The only thing interesting about him was his strong accent, and John heard those a lot. So really there was nothing interesting about him. John wanted out of this bus.

"Wanna go down to wait?" Ringo asked casually. John opened his mouth to answer "oh, yes, please, I'll fucking blow you, that’s how _down_ I wanna get", when there was a wet sound of spitting and something landed on John's cheek.

He stopped. Ringo stared at him, with disgust and now slight fear in his eyes.

Slowly John lifted his hand and touched it on his cheek before wiping away the thick saliva, lifting it in front of his eyes.

Nah. This _wouldn't_ do.

He'd just have a laugh about this later, probably.

"Ye know, son," he said, his voice turning harsh, his eyes narrowing and his scouser accent coming up in full force. Ringo looked like he would almost smile at that. "I don' care whatever biased things bowl through yer mind, mate, but when yous start spitt'n ed people's faces, things go fuckin’ _down."_

The man's eyes widened but he had no time to react before John had leant forward over the back of his seat, pushed his thumb out and traced it over the man's lips, wiping the saliva on them.

He pulled his hand back, smiled like a sunshine and pushed himself on his feet, grabbing the seat to keep himself upright.

"Better wish I don'ave dat AIDS, rite?" he grinned and then he and Ringo were off downstairs from a mutual, silent agreement, leaving the man gaping.

"Let's just get off!" Ringo called a bit breathlessly and John nodded quickly, squeezing the shopping bag's handle with white knuckles. He felt like he was running on adrenaline, and the moment he stepped out of the bus he'd probably become like a flattening balloon.

Meaning that he would flatten pretty quickly while letting out desperate, high-pitched screaming.

They rushed out of the bus, just like everyone else, and both let out deep, relieved sighs when the bus sped forward and the man didn't seem to have got down with them.

John saw Ringo slightly shaking.

"S-sorry," Ringo swallowed, leaning into John lightly for support. "I-I-"

"Ye-ah," John stuttered with some difficulties and nodded. His knees felt like jelly.

Some people were watching them with confused expressions, some with curiosity. An elderly woman made her way determinedly to them and put a hand on Ringo's shoulder.

"You alright there, my boys?" she asked with a concerned voice. John was pretty sure she had been on the upper deck. Why hadn't people interrupted the man? Why would they only look? Or were they waiting that things got nastier?

Ringo nodded, straightening his back.

"Yeah, no worries, ma'am, thank you," he coughed, glancing at John. "John?"

"Uh-huh," John said with a rather empty voice. "Wasn't waiting for a hateful cockney to throw me off me track."

"Was this your stop, dears?" the woman said gently and both John and Ringo shook their heads.

"No problem, ma'am," Ringo smiled, apparently back on _his_ tracks. John was still feeling light-headed. The handle of the shopping bag was the only thing keeping him anchored to this world, because if he let it go dinner would be destroyed. "We'll just walk a bit and take the 117 from there."

The woman nodded, patted him on the shoulder, John as well, and with goodbyes left off towards the terraced houses that were built all along that side of the road.

John and Ringo stared at each other, stared after the woman, stared after the bus, and then started walking towards the next bus stop in silence.

They had walked quietly for four minutes before John cleared his throat.

"You were shit scared, right?" he asked carefully, not looking at Ringo but keeping his eyes on the road instead. He heard Ringo let out a deep sigh.

"Yeah. Sorry I didn’t do anything.”

The older man paused, sounding like he was hesitating to continue.

“... I hate those kinda situations. I get afraid and can’t say shit, even to help my mates.”

John glanced at the other man before facing forward again.

"You been in 'em before?" he said, almost fearing the answer. He had never thought that Ringo, of all people would have been traumatised by this kind of a thing.

He heard a soft, agreeing sound and grimaced.

"You know," Ringo then said, sounding like they were discussing weather, "it happens to everyone. It's just that you can never know whether they'll get aggressive or not."

"Yeah," John agreed, hesitant and unsure. "I guess the worst- the worst thing that could've happened there was that I would've got a punch in the face."

Ringo sighed.

"Mmh. Or sometimes a knife in the kidneys. But you never know."

John fell silent and didn't say anything anymore for a while.

It took the ten minutes to get to the right bus stop, and then another ten in the bus to get home. Usually they didn't take the second bus, but now with the shopping bags and wobbly legs they didn't feel like walking for twenty minutes.

The flat seemed quiet, but George's shoes were laying on the floor (or then they were Paul's. But Paul was working). Ringo let out a deep sigh and then started suddenly chuckling, rendering John slightly speechless for a moment.

"Why'd you pull up the accent, though?" Ringo snickered after a moment and John raised his eyebrows, shrugging before smiling.

"Did you hear his?? I was just giving him back the same treatment," he laughed and they both cracked up. John knew it was a coping mechanism, knew that the shock and fear was only leaving, but it didn't stop him from howling and doubling over.

George appeared into the hallway with raised eyebrows.

"Was the meetin' that fun?" he asked, and as his scouser accent reached John's and Ringo's ears their laughter only increased.

George looked confused but only until the moment where Ringo staggered towards him and kissed him fully on the mouth. To anyone but John it would have just looked like a sudden horny moment, but John knew better. It was a bubble of tension bursting.

"Ew, guys," John groaned when a heated make-up session was springing up faster than he had expected, "what about the groceries? The _food_?"

Ringo and George waved their hands at him and disappeared towards their room.

" _Right_ ," John sighed. "I'll just- I'll just make the dinner then!" he yelled after the two other lads and didn't hear anything else but George's fervent moan as a response.

He shrugged and loitered into the kitchen, filled the fridge and the cupboards with food again (it was such a lovely sight) and got on cooking, finding peace in turning sausages on a pan.

_"It happens to everyone."_

He didn't like this one bit. Fuck, why did his life have to become so complicated suddenly??

At least he could put the Julia thing behind him for now. There was no reason to think about her anymore, and even though John felt slightly put-out at the moment it would pass soon. He knew it would.

That didn't stop him from opening a beer bottle or two later that evening while waiting for Paul in the living room, Creature in his lap, the TV on and sprouting nonsense for no reason whatsoever. He didn't care where George and Ringo were, and for the moment didn't even care about where Paul was. The most important thing for now was to get his mind _away_ from _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta say, I've wanted to write one of them interacting with a homophobe for some time. It's a problem that is unfortunately still relevant and I certainly hope all of you have managed to escape homophobia, or at least in it's violent forms :/ Don't worry, for John things get better with some alcohol in the system (or so they say. not really. don't drink kids)
> 
> This chapter is probably the "darkest" chapter of the whole series. I just feel that these things cannot be written lightly, and I didn't want to try that either. John is, after all, going through some pretty mentally difficult shit in this. :'c my bby
> 
> Somehow John has got all the bad luck when it comes to relatives... But if you're feeling down, just imagine how Mary would react if she heard Julia!! (she would beat the FUCK outta her. she would _sLAY_ )


	9. George Becomes Unstoppable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someboyd stop georeg
> 
>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_

The flat was eerily quiet when Paul entered. He listened for some time on the door in the dark hallway and then pushed himself in, threw his scarf and jacket away and checked the amount of shoes on the floor. Everyone should be home, then.

He was kind of already anticipating what was going on when he stepped into the living room.

He let out a small sigh.

"Oh, John," he muttered and started walking closer to the man that had apparently dozed off on the sofa. The TV was on and Creature was lying in John's lap, letting out a meow as a greeting when Paul approached.

Paul counted the bottles and pressed his lips tightly together, frowning. As far as he knew John still had to work tomorrow, and apparently the lad had gone and got himself _very_ drunk.

He shooed the cat away and reached up, poked at John carefully on the cheek. Usually, even though drunk and passed out, John was quite easy to wake up. That appeared to be true now as well, but the manner in which he did it was a surprise and something that Paul hadn't anticipated. _Ever._

John's eyes opened slowly, he blinked several times before his gaze focused on Paul. For a moment they only stared at each other in utter silence before John's hands shot out and pulled Paul into his lap.

"Hey!" Paul exclaimed, almost falling face first into John's forehead. "Watch it-"

He quieted down and swallowed.

John was rock hard.

"John. What is this," he said with a raised eyebrow and after regaining his balance, pointed down towards John's lap.

"It'sh nnuthin'," John grinned in a cheerful, drunk way and wrapped his arms around Paul's torso. "Nothinng ath aalll."

"I'm quite thinking- that it's your _dick_ ," Paul tried to disentangle himself from his boyfriend, who laughed, his voice filled with good humour. Paul almost cringed at the thought of how much John had had to drink in an order to sound humorous. When dropping Paul off, John had given him a small, broken smile, the likes that Paul had never seen before. He had not been able to shake that from his mind, and it had only been- what? Eight hours since that moment? John would not be able to sound like this had he not been poisoning himself with enough alcohol.

"Hahah. Whhhat dick," John grinned and thrust up to emphasise the fact that he VERY MUCH HAD ONE.

Paul gasped, blood rushing towards both his stomach and cheeks.

"H-hey-" he started, the situation too close to some of his (extremely) secret fantasies that he could be comfortable with it. The thought of this happening without their clothes on, with John _inside_ -

 _'We just dealt with Julia!!'_ Paul yelled at himself mentally. Also, John was drunk and hurting! _Drunk_ . Paul was not one to take advance of such a thing. _No._

John's hands travelled lower and grabbed Paul's arse (!!!!!!!!! shouted the gay inside Paul). For a second Paul had a fleeting thought that that was _exactly_ what he would probably do to a girl, and he knew that this move almost _always_ resulted in _sex_.

With his hold strong, John brought Paul momentarily up and then back down, letting out a long and a throaty moan. Paul sucked in his breath and put his hands on John's shoulders, his thinking abilities getting mushed in the progress.

"John," he tried, but John brought him down again and Paul just _had_ to moan (quietly) at that. "J-John, you w-wank _ER-mmm-!"_

John's lips cut away his breath and Paul smelled alcohol _very_ strongly. Nooo, he couldn't really enjoy this if. If John was this drunk. He couldn't-

Hell, he was enjoying so much. But he _really_ wanted John to _sleep_ . And John had- his _smile_ in the car had- there was so much _pain_ -

" _John,"_ he said strongly, pulling back to gasp for breath. He pushed himself away from John, his own dick aching and hard now. He breathed harshly for a while before leaning forward and grabbing John from the wrists.

"C'mon," he swallowed. John was panting, his eyes looking hazy. "You're dead bladdered. Let's go to bed."

"Yye'rrre wh-whith mmee?" John slurred and Paul nodded patiently, his heart twisting painfully.

"Yes. Now, love, up you get!" He pulled with all his force and John rose from the sofa, almost falling back again. Paul grabbed a hold of him and started more or less dragging him towards the bedroom.

This wasn't certainly normal. He had anticipated that John would drink, but not quite this much. He had thought that maybe they would have a few drinks together, and then talk about Julia, to go over it so it wouldn't stay and bother John anymore tomorrow, but this- this was just _odd._ Also the part where he tried to literally have sex with Paul was pretty weird. Usually, even when drunk, John was slightly aware of what he was doing.

He put John to bed and the man was unconscious to the world within a minute. Paul carefully left him lying on his side and tiptoed through the flat to George and Ringo's door, knocking on it and waiting for an answer.

Ringo opened it, wrapped up into a blanket, his hair looking like he had had a _really_ good fuck some times before. George was sitting on the bed with his laptop open in front of him, looking cosy in his own blanket, a bag of crisps open next to him. He had lifted his face and as his gaze met Paul's, Paul knew that something was amiss.

"What's going on?" he asked carefully, not even bothering to ask if he could enter. He pushed past Ringo and jumped on the bed, crossing his legs under him. Ringo left the door open and climbed right next to him, offering him the bag of crisps.

"Well," Ringo then started while Paul filled his hand with crisps, "There's probably _a lot_ in John's mind at the moment."

"You don't say," Paul said dryly and George let out an uncharacteristic sigh.

"They ran into a homophobe in a bus."

Paul's eyes widened and right away narrowed, his attention fully on Ringo.

"What happened?" he asked, slight fear filling his voice. He had yet to meet one himself, but he knew the risks… Knew them _very well_.

“Well, we’re sitting and talking about stuff, about Julia and such,” Ringo sighed, wrapping himself up in his blanket better. He looked so comfortable and Paul was very jealous. “Then this guy behind us starts accusing John of being gay. I guess he overheard us talking about you.”

Paul frowned, biting his lip. He would have slayed that man. He would have-

“He was getting more and more aggressive and was about to attack John as well.”

“ _WHAT_??” Paul more or less yelled before slapping a hand on his mouth, glancing towards the open door with an alarmed look. They all listened in silence for a while, but there were no signs of John having woken up.

“ _What_ ,” Paul repeated with a hiss through his fingers. George and Ringo glanced at each other, looking uneasy.

“Then he spit on John’s face and I’m quite sure something snapped in John’s head,” Ringo took a crisp and pushed it into his mouth, ignoring Paul’s wide, questioning eyes that were shooting him with alarming signals.

“I’ve never really heard John speak scouse so strongly?” Ringo looked slightly confused. “You see, Paul, that man had a pretty strong cockney accent, so I guess John wanted to show that he can be identified through his speakin’, too.”

“It’s a defence,” George said, Ringo’s and Paul’s eyes turning on him. “Whenever he feels physically threatened he pulls out the accent. Makes ‘im feel tougher.”

“I- I didn’t know,” Paul said in a small voice. He had only heard John speaking scouse jokingly, in which Paul usually joined. Once again he was painfully reminded of the history between John and George that he just wouldn’t be able to touch.

“He got it extremely good, though,” Ringo said carefully. “I was kinda impressed, knowing that he’s grown under the perfect Queen’s English –rules by Mimi.”

Paul remembered when John had started doing the scouse during their Liverpool visit. So... it had been a defence as well? And Mimi probably knew it.

“He can do the scouse pretty well,” George shrugged. He was being awfully quiet and Paul didn’t know whether it was the fact that he was apparently watching silent porn absentmindedly from his computer, or if he understood that the situation required a bit of some basic carefulness. “He told me some time that ‘e jus’ basically thinks of how _I_ sound when I’m arseholed, an’ then adds his own accent on top o’ that.”

Paul reached for crisps, feeling stressed and heavy. He certainly had not wanted this for John, not now, and preferably not ever.

He had no idea how he would have reacted had he been in a situation similar to this. Probably he would have looked cold on the outside and inside would have screamed very loudly.

“What then?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, but to his surprise Ringo chuckled. It sounded a bit off, though, but Paul could forgive that.

“Oh, well, John wiped the spit from his cheek and rubbed it in the lips of the man. Then we made our escape and walked to the next stop. That shit was definitely _insane_.”

A strangled chuckle escaped Paul’s mouth. He still couldn’t tell why John had got a huge need to rut against Paul like that, but maybe it was some kind of a coping mechanism. Paul had no idea.

“Well,” he sighed, “at least he seems physically fine.”

“Oh yes,” George started, a smile widening on his lips and Paul heart dropping into his knees, “we heard that moan-“

“Nooooo,” Paul spluttered, jumped away from the bed and hurried towards the door. “Good night! There were _no_ moans!”

He shut the door with more force than necessary, and somehow felt that now hell was only beginning.

There had been something too promising in George’s tone.

***~**~***

“I feel like Paul lives in constant denial,” Ringo stated rather blankly as the door closed. George glanced up from the _delicious_ porn that was running on his screen and grabbed a handful of crisps.

”’Bout what?” he asked with a small grin with his eyes glinting. Ringo chuckled.

”About being gay.”

George laughed and put the porn on pause. He had seen it so many times as well that it didn’t do much, only amused him.

”Can you think of ’ow their marriage ’s gonna be?”

Ringo started laughing uncontrollably.

”John will probably start by asking ’are you sure’,” he almost doubled over and George joined in, putting a hand in front of his mouth so that Paul couldn’t hear their howling.

”I’m not sure Paul’s ever wanna get married, though,” he hummed to himself. ”He probably thinks it’s way too gay.”

Ringo’s responding laugh made him widen his grin and even after silence had taken over the room, small, amused exhales could be heard every now and then.

George was going to get back on his task of being unsupportable. That was his goal in life, and that was what he would do. Now Julia was out of their lives, fortunately, and George was going to fill that gap.

He had hated her appearing, really had. Despite how it sometimes seemed to everyone but him, he did actually care about his friends. And about John especially. (He still had that excellent dream of tying John to bed, tying Paul to a chair, and then letting Paul see how he rode John. That would be just delicious. And he was sure that Paul wouldn’t really object after some time.)

”Has there been any change?” Ringo asked suddenly and George lifted his face, glancing at the older man before returning his gaze on the porn.

”No. Well, John sure has got better at blowin’ since the first time.”

”You can’t really see it from the video, though?” Ringo frowned and George cackled.

”If Paul’s reactions are anythin’ to go by...”

”Aah,” Ringo nodded several times, laughing to himself. ”Yeah, I guess that’s quite a good way to measure it.”

The porn caught George’s attention again, but something nagged the back of his mind. Something that seemed amiss, even though he was aware of most of the things that went through... Paul’s... head-

”There’s somethin’,” he said and snapped his fingers several times, trying to wrap his mind around the small thing that bothered him. Ringo took more crisps and took his phone out, starting to go through different notifications. ”Has- Hasn’t Paul spent an awful amount of time on ’is phone ever since last weekend?”

Ringo munched the crisps, a wondering expression on his face.

”He did seem a bit baffled that three hours had passed, last Sunday I guess.” He pushed even more of the salty potato slices in his mouth and looked like an adorable hamster. George leant closer and pressed a quick kiss on the man’s lips before pulling back and quickly navigating into the spy camera files.

He loved being this wicked.

He checked the live camera from Paul and John’s room, seeing Paul sitting on the edge of the bed, just looking at John. The camera was unfortunately situated so that he couldn’t see Paul’s face, but his hand was entwined in John’s hair, stroking it softly.

”Ugh, they’re so cute,” he let out a stiff noise and Ringo almost choked on the crisps.

”Show me.”

They cooed after their OTP for a moment before George went to see the saved files from last weekend.

_Sunday 14.12.2014 – Kitchen_

He opened the file and fast-forwarded to the moment where Paul got into the kitchen. They followed him with sharp eyes, and then Ringo frowned.

”Is he _reading_?” he leant his head on George’s shoulder. George wished that the video wouldn’t be so grainy.

”Why is he doin’ all these weird motions?” he asked and just as he said that, Paul pulled his face away from the phone and seemed to be grimacing, his whole posture tense. He shook himself from head to toe and then his thumb started moving.

”Scrollin’?” George squinted at the screen. Ringo looked as confused as he felt.

Paul sure seemed to be conflicted with what he was doing.

George then checked the videos from the week, from Paul and John’s room. Paul really did seem to spend a lot of time reading, sometimes making frustrated faces and muttering something to the phone.

”I’d say it’s a story,” Ringo mumbled, ”but most of the time he looks like he doesn’t even wanna read it.”

Paul’s reaction to when John caught him from reading was what baffled George the most. Why would Paul be embarrassed about reading?

Unless…

Unless it was-

”What if,” he whispered, excitement rising in his stomach, ”it’s _fanfiction_.”

Ringo jerked his head up and looked at George with wide eyes.

”Why’d he read fics?” he asked, totally bewildered now. ”He’s read 'em before, I think. Told me that he doesn’t understand what’s so interesting in the whole thing.”

”...Maybe ’e just ’adn’t found the right pairin’ yet,” George’s voice was something between dark and cheerful, and Ringo’s eyes eyebrows started raising.

”The right _pairing_ ,” he hissed and they looked at each other, understanding passing between them at the same time.

”No _WAY_!!!!” George yelled and Ringo let out a wordless shout, his hands coming on both sides of his face. They jumped up and clutched at each other’s elbows, shouting at the same time.

”IF IT’S-”

”IT MUST BE-”

”IT FITS PERFECTLY-”

” _Okay, you two. I don’t care what it is, but bloody keep it down??”_

Ringo and George paused and turned to look at the door, a devilish smile spreading on George’s lips instantly.

”Oh, _Paul,_ ” he called in a sing-a-song voice, jumping down from the bed and went to open the door. Paul stood there in his pyjamas, looking irritated and tired. He was holding a glass of water in his hand, but it seemed untouched. It was probably for John, then.

”George,” Paul raised an eyebrow, not amused at all. George bounced on his feet, unable to stop the dark chuckle that escaped from his mouth. Paul leant back and looked instantly terrified.

”Wasn’t there,” George started, leaning towards Paul, who kept leaning backwards. He would probably fall pretty soon on his arse if he continued. ”Wasn’t there a certain _wish_ in yer mind ’about _somethin’_ that had to do with _John_?” George's grin kept on widening and his eyes glinted rather madly. Oh, Paul had made his whole _year_ with this!

”Er,” Paul started, starting to look around himself as if searching for a place to run to. It would be no use though. George would catch him. He was an expert at catching people who didn’t want to be caught. ”No?”

”I’m pretty sure there _was_ ,” George breathed and got closer, and now he had Paul pressed against the wall. Ringo was following from the doorway with an amused smile on his face, his cheeks glowing with a cheerful tint.

”I-I,” Paul’s breath hitched and George leant forward, let his lips ghost over Paul’s ear.

”Wasn’t it ’bout _anal_?” he hissed and Paul let out a noise that could only be described as _panicked_.

”Haha,” the man exhaled, sounding breathy but like he was out of all emotions. ”I fear I don’t follow-”

”I’m gonna help ye,” George pulled back and Paul’s face was the picture of ”that is exactly what I am fearing for”.

” _Help_ ,” Paul swallowed, still only inches away from George.

” _Yeah,”_ George grinned. ”And if ye’ve got brain, ye don’ come between me’n John.”

” _Between_?” Paul repeated, looking like a goldfish, and then George patted him on the shoulder with a wolfish smile.

”Or, well,” he chuckled and heard Ringo do the same, ”ye can. It’s all ’bout the _context_.”

He left Paul standing in the hallway, the lad clutching at the glass of water like his life depended on it.

Now, there was _nothing_ holding him back anymore. And George was going to show it to the fucking _world_.

Maybe after a few quick orgasms with Ringo, though.

***~**~***

Paul had never feared more in his entire life.

***~**~***

”How was it then, meeting you mum?” Stuart twirled his pen in his nimble fingers. John groaned, his forehead against the backroom table. He was dying. He was hangover. He was DYING!!!

”I’m dying,” he muttered and Stuart let out a slightly disagreeing sound.

”I vaguely remember thinking the same last weekend, and here we are.

”No, you don’t get it. I’m actually dying,” John tried, but Stuart only rolled his eyes and continued turning the pen over and over. John lifted his head momentarily to look at it, but he got almost ill watching it.

”How’s your mum, then?” his co-worker asked and John let out a small moan.

”Please, Stu. I’ve left her behind. There is nothing in this world that makes me wanna talk about her.”

”Oh, so it went that badly then.”

“Don’t even mention it,” John muttered. “There are too many things stressing me right now.”

Stuart looked at him with a raised eyebrow. John hadn’t said a word about yesterday’s bus ride, and he wasn’t going to. He needed to sort that shit out by himself, in his own private mind. How did it make him feel like? Shitty. Would he care? No.

Better to just leave everything from yesterday behind and lose himself into his work.

He sighed and stood up, the clock on the wall his worst enemy now. Only eight hours to go, and then he would get home, would get to Paul, and everything would be _fine_ . It was Friday. Everything would be _great_.

Except that no, when he got home there was a post-it note on their bed that said _’out with Jane’_ , and John’s whole mood that had been rather low to begin with crumbled down, and he was _destroyed_. Paul had been supposed to spend this evening by listening to John crying about Julia! And John had wanted to talk about the bus as well-

He threw himself on the bed with a loud sigh, took the pink note into his hand and eyed at it like it was a traitor.

”How dare you,” he muttered at the piece of sticky paper and waved it in the air for some reason, watched how it turned and listened to the flappy sound it produced.

Speaking of sounds.

He sat up, a frown breaking through his forehead. There was a woman’s voice coming from George and Ringo’s room.

A _woman’s_ voice.

’ _Well, that’s something quite different,’_ he thought through a starting headache and pushed himself up, started making his way towards the room. Maybe George had a friend over? Or his sister? He walked to the door, and it was definitely a real life woman’s voice. He would’ve known if it was the radio or the computer.

He knocked and opened the door.

”GEORGE,” he yelled right after and slapped a hand over his eyes. A black-haired young woman stopped moving on top of George and turned to look at John with dark eyes. Somehow her gaze reminded John of a hawk.

”Oh, hi John,” George started snickering, his hands going to rest on the woman’s thighs, rubbing up and down on them. John cursed and started stepping away from the door to close it.

”Hi John!”

He stilled and slowly dragged his hand away from his eyes.

Ringo was sitting in the corner of the room, in George’s office chair that was used for fucking more than for working (at least what John knew). He was wearing all of his clothes and looked rather relaxed, a beer bottle in his hand.

John stared.

”Ah,” he then said and the woman started moving again on top of George, moans spilling from her lips. ”You’re-”

”Yeah,” Ringo said cheerfully. ”Wanna join?”

”I’ll pass,” John said rather blankly and glanced at George and the woman again. ”Er, is she staying for dinner? Is it my turn to make it?”

”M-mine-hh!” George called from the bed, his hips moving up and down in a forceful rhythm. John swallowed and pointed over his shoulder, towards his room.

”I’ll just-”

Ringo started snickering and John stopped, lifted his eyebrows questioningly. Ringo’s laughter increased and he waved his hand in the air, gesturing towards George.

”It’s the second time in this week that one of you has walked in on us,” his laughter got louder and louder and George was going at it as well, the woman starting to giggle too. John didn’t look very impressed.

”You didn’t leave any lasting traumas on Paul?” he asked with a careful voice.

”N-nothin’ he hasn’t s-s-seen be _fore_ ,” George gasped and John decided to leave it at that.

”The food better be ready in an hour,” he said before closing the door. He could hear George and Ringo both laugh inside the room.

Their relationship baffled him, but could he question it when his own was such a... mess. Not really, though. At least he could be sure that Paul and he really loved each other.

He returned back into he and Paul’s room, the post-it note seeming to mock him with all its existence. He frowned at the way Paul had written Jane’s name. It seemed so familiar, the writing even and the letters differing from those that Paul usually used. That name had been written _many_ times with that hand.

He sighed and shook his head. He was being emotional and he was hangover, and there was no real reason for him to really start sulking about the fact that his boyfriend had went to meet an _ex-girlfriend_.

He sat on the bed and stared at the wall that was covered with photos. There were several of them with Jane as well; travelling photos from an Interrail that Paul and Jane had done three years ago. They were grinning in front of the Eiffel Tower, both holding ice creams, looking like the most perfect couple there ever could be in the world.

John wanted to travel with Paul, but at the moment they didn’t have enough money for that. Maybe he could start saving and then, in the summer, take Paul to Paris.

He had _always_ wanted to go to Paris.

But maybe taking Paul there would only make him remember the Good Old Straight Times™ with Jane.

’ _Hell, what the fuck is wrong with me now??’_ John chastised himself and shook his head, laying down on the bed. Why did his mind keep going back to Jane???

But what if- what if that had been the reason why Paul acted so strange? In Liverpool, and after that as well. During this week he had been a lot on his phone. Maybe he was chatting with someone? With-

 _Jane_.

John shuddered. He recognised jealousy when it came, and this was certainly jealousy. It was slight fear as well, because even if this was just John’s mind’s own production at the moment, it could be true as well. What if Paul had started missing being in a heterosexual relationship? What if John was too difficult? What if Paul missed sex with a woman? John had come to a conclusion that he himself was actually pretty much gay. Paul had never really been sure about it, although it was apparent that women still gave him boners.

All that hiding and panicking, and that hysteric moment where he had yelled something about Google- could it really mean that Paul was becoming aware that he didn’t want to be with John anymore?

John swallowed and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts mushed and unsure. The alcohol was still in his system, making it hard for him to think clearly, and he had had to fill his body with painkillers in an order to go through the whole day at work. Julia had left him into an emotionally destroyed state, and the incident in the bus had done that mentally. The only thing that was missing anymore was that John accidentally fell from the balcony and was physically broken.

...He was quite sure that Paul was so transparent that one could see right away if he was even thinking about someone else than John. He was _sure_ of it; It was the only thing he could rely on at the moment.

He had sometime in the past had a discussion with Jane about it; She had said that the moment Paul’s interest in dating her had disappeared, she had seen it and brought the cat on the table. Paul had calmly stated that it was so, apparently, because he only became aware of it from _Jane_ noticing it.

John was sure that he would see if Paul wanted to leave him behind in his life. So far there had been no signs of that.

...Except the sex part being apparently really unsatisfying for him.

John turned on his stomach, rather anxious. With George and Ringo occupied he could not go and talk to them (to Ringo) about this, and he didn’t want to get out from his room before he knew for sure that George and Ringo and that... woman all had their clothes on.

He grabbed his iPhone and noticed three more messages that hadn’t been there, er, one hour ago. All three of them were from Paul, two of them photos.

He opened the first message and a small smile reached his lips, despite him feeling overall a bit shitty.

_ _

The first photo showed Jane, making a goofy face with a tea cup brought up to her lips. The second was a selfie of Paul with light radiating prettily behind the top of his head, a piece of chocolate cake in a spoon on its way towards his mouth. John chuckled at that and saved the photo into his camera roll that seriously had more Paul than was necessary.

He wrote back and pressed send. He only had to wait for ten seconds before a terrified-looking emoji appeared into the chat.

Paul sent a winking emoji and John laughed, turning on his back, and lifted the phone up in front of his eyes. Paul was ridiculous, and God, if John didn’t love him!

__   


John snorted.

”Okay,” John called up to the ceiling, laughing to himself. ”You got me with that.”

__   


__   


John took a selfie of himself looking at the camera with a judging look on his face, then sent it with a text:

”Two hours!!!” John sat up and stared at the phone before letting out a small groan, falling back on the blanket. ”That’s an _eternity_!!!

An eternity to spend alone with his thoughts, unable to think of anything but his mother, of the _pain_ , of all the things that had gone _wrong_ -

He sent a sad emoji to Paul, who responded with a photo of Jane laughing into her cup of tea.

At that point John decided to move away from the chat and navigated into his browser. Just to... just to see some things.

He googled cheap flights and was soon searching for the price for a straight flight from London to Paris.

’ _Maybe going on a train is easier,’_ he thought and bit his lip, going to search for the trains. The prices were kind of... pricy, but maybe, if he really started saving now, he could make it. It would be a perfect birthday present for Paul.

With the plan now locked in his head, he went onto his budget planning app and checked what took the most of his money. Food, Creature, phone bills, and well, sometimes cigarettes.

’ _Those are going_ _ **now**_ ,’ he decided, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy on some days, but he had anyway made that promise to Ringo. A Smoke-Free Arse By The End Of 2014 was all and everything he had ever wanted. Except when he really needed a cigarette.

 _'Do it for Paul!'_ he chanted in his head, making it into his new mantra. He would become totally smoke-free, and he would fucking _take Paul into Paris_ even if it was the last thing he could do with his final breath. He could always sell his kidneys on eBay, probably.

He let out a sigh and let his phone fall onto his stomach, staring at the ceiling with mixed feelings (and a big need to have a cigarette)(typical). He lay there for some time before his phone let out a ping.

He glanced down on it, seeing a message from George. He frowned and after some mental preparation opened it.

__   


”Tinder?” John frowned. The name sounded somehow familiar. Maybe it was one of those apps that most of the people had heard of but didn't know what it was about.

Or then it was some porn star's name and George was just going to send him stare at some dicks. He sometimes did that. Not that John ever stared at those dicks. Or compared them to his own. Or sulked because his cock was much smaller than them. No. He never did that.

He searched for the app anyway, scrolled past the description and went on Wikipedia without much further thinking.

He read the text and horror started slowly pushing into him.

”Oh, _no_ ,” he breathed, letting the phone fall down from his hands. ”Oh, _hell no_.”

It was, apparently, one of the world's most popular dating apps.

That would- that would explain their guest, probably.

John had a feeling that their calm days where they only had to deal with abandoning mothers and gay thoughts were over.

Hell was beginning. And George was the ruler.

***~**~***

The TV was blasting out some rubbish called _8 Questions About Sex._ Paul was quite sure it contained a bit more than only eight questions, but he was only watching with one eye. The other one was concentrating on writing a new blog text that contained a lot of ranting about people who abandoned their children. He knew he had covered this subject several times during the last few weeks, but he could always find something new to say about it.

John had left for work that morning wearing the most exhausted, hangover face ever. Ringo had burst up into a laughter, saying ”quite a face for custom service”. He had earned a glare from John, but Paul hadn't been able to help it but snicker a bit. John had glared at him as well, but fortunately had forgiven him the betrayal when Paul had decided to see if a snog would wake him up. It had. A bit.

It was apparent that the man didn't remember anything of last night. He had, at one point during breakfast, asked if he had drunk too much. Paul had nodded with a cheerful smile and John had only grimaced, shrugged and said “well, what can a man do”. Paul couldn't help but agree.

John's hadn't managed but one, tired smile before leaving, but Paul had found to his relief that it was nothing like the one yesterday. The more he had thought about that expression, the more he wanted to go into a full ninja-mode and destroy Julia. He had the address of her hotel- he just needed to grab a kitchen knife and he'd be set…

How could someone be so… so _awful_???

” _Here we have a worried anon, 17 years old, wondering whether he can rub his penis when it is erect. He worries that it might be bad for it. Well, do not fear my dear anonymous, rubbing it is very normal and there is no problem at all!”_

”Seriously,” Paul muttered as the hostess (with a _really_ large neckline) let out a stupid-sounding giggle. He reached for the TV remote and put the volume down, not wanting to hear another ridiculous question about could one get HIV from a hickey.

Although, Paul had to admit, had there been tips about gay sex he would have listened with earnest.

He tried to write the blog text, and tried to concentrate, but his mind kept going back to the word _gay sex_ . And more specifically, to the _fic_.

Paul had not dared to read it much further than where he had last left it. He was just so _afraid_ of actually _liking_ the sex part. (He knew it was coming, and _everything_ about it made his skin break with goosebumps. Fuck.) It would be just so _wrong_.

He fiddled with the keyboard of the computer before decided that he couldn't really get anything done at this point. He pushed the computer down and fished his phone out from between the sofa cushions, glancing at it.

At that very moment the phone let out the few first bars of the Minions _Banana Song._

” _Ba-ba-bah-ba-ba-nana-"_

” _Shit!”_ Paul hissed and pressed the answer button quicker than ever before. He brought the phone to his ear, his heart running with extra speed. ”H-hello??”

” _Paul!”_ Jane's chirpy voice shot through his eardrums and he groaned, his head falling against the sofa's backrest.

”Jane,” he moaned, ”why?”

” _Why do you sound like something really traumatising just happened?”_ Jane asked with a cheerful voice and Paul groaned some more.

”Someone, and I suspect George, has changed my ringtone to the Minions' Banana Song,” he whined and Jane started laughing. Paul waited for some time so that she could calm down before huffing into the phone.

”Did you have something important as well?” he raised an eyebrow at the hostess in the television, who right at that moment winked at Paul. Jane laughed.

” _I just called... to say... I love you,”_ she sang and Paul chuckled.

”Right. Good thing we sorted that out.”

At that moment there was the sound of the door slamming shut and he turned abruptly, a frown creasing his forehead as he eyed suspiciously of the living room door.

”I think someone just came home,” he stated and Jane ooh-ed.

” _Maybe it's_ _ **John**_ _!!_ ”

”Don't be stupid. He's at work till four.

” _Poor lad. Hard working. And for what money?! For what price does he throw himself into the hands of the bureaucrats-”_

”Thank you, Jane, for this lovely small piece of acting,” Paul deadpanned absentmindedly while he still kept on looking at the door. If it was Ringo, everything was fine. If it was George…

...Well, he'd make a run for it.

” _It's actually from a script we're working on right now,”_ Jane said cheerfully. _”It's an overly-dramatic play about… well, about, er, diplomatic frogs.”_

”Frogs?” Paul asked in a light voice, now only listening with half an ear. There were sounds in the hallway, which meant… Was it George with a friend? It was a woman's voice speaking now.

” _Yes, um, maybe it's better that we stop talking about that. You'll see it then.”_

Paul was just about to say ”no way in hell, sugar cake”, but at that moment the door opened and George pushed his head in.

”Paul!” he called out excitedly and waved his phone in the air. ”I've found Tinder!!!”

”A what,” Paul said blankly, hearing Jane crack up. He frowned, suspicion entering his mind. He was already planning his escape, though. ”A _what_?”

”It's a _dating_ app,” George's eyes widened and his grin became maniacal, and Paul gulped.

Shit.

”That is just _great_ for you,” he said in a rather shaky voice and pushed himself on his feet. He switched the television off quickly, grabbed his computer on one hand and then carried himself out of the living room, past his ex-friend.

”Yeah! It's just _great_ for one-night stands-” George continued, starting to trail behind Paul as he hurried towards his room. There was now definitely talking from the kitchen. A woman and- Ringo?

”For the love of God, please don't include me in any of this,” he called as he got inside his room, George still coming behind him like a predator that was slowly tiring out its victim. Paul felt sweat breaking his skin.

”I jus' thought if ye wanted to join-”

”Jane!” Paul shouted suddenly and Jane's laughter stopped for a minute before her shaky voice responded breathlessly.

” _Y-yeah?”_

”I'll see you in a café in thirty minutes,” he said, glancing at the clock on his night table quickly. ”Our usual place.”

George started laughing and as Jane joined in, calling out in agreement, Paul had a feeling that there was no running out of this situation.

Maybe it would do him good, to see Jane. He _needed_ to get his mind off of Julia, and all the other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. I said when I started posting this fic that the ride was only at the beginning. This is where it begins. George is unleashed. Somebody please drive over him, please. plaese.
> 
> Also, in case you didn't know, I hate the minions. I have transferred that hate to the characters. not sorry
> 
> Also, Tinder became really big in 2014. A coincidence? No, it was just George sharing it to all of his friends who started a global trend.
> 
> A comment per reader keeps the author fed and the doctor away! (or that's how it feels....) <3


	10. GEORGE NEEDS TO BE STOPPED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someboyd stop georeg
> 
>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_

Paul entered the café a bit late, but he still had to wait for Jane. He got himself a tea while waiting, but it did not take long before a young woman with bright red hair stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding Paul.

Jane was wearing a bright red trench coat, and as she took it off she revealed a simple, blue jumper and jeans underneath. She looked stunning, as always, and Paul saw a few men stealing glances at her. He had for some reason always been really conscious of those looks. Before he had been filled with pride because that beautiful girl was his. In these days he was proud because one of his best friends was such a marvel.

He stood up to hug her and made a face when they pulled back. Jane started laughing.

”Now,” she grinned, sitting down at the table, ”tell me everything about George and _Tinder.”_

”You know Tinder?” Paul asked with raised eyebrows. Jane nodded, still wearing that same grin.

”Got it myself as well, you know,” she managed to look devilish and innocent at the same time. Paul wasn't sure how she did that. It was probably all that acting.

”Er, well, great,” he shrugged. ”If it makes you happy?”

”It doesn't,” she grimaced. ”It's full of men who are too full of themselves and too desperate for vagina.”

Paul swallowed and looked around. There was no one at a hearing distance, fortunately. Jane never had much restriction in what she said.

”I guess the world is full of people like that,” he said, feeling rather uncomfortable. He hadn't wanted to meet Jane in the first place, but staying alone in the same flat as Ringo, George, a woman and George's dick was just too much to handle.

Jane fetched herself a cup of tea, and then they both decided to spontaneously grab chocolate cakes. Paul loved chocolate cake.

”So,” Jane started then with a light voice that promised no good, eyeing at the way Paul's eyes had glazed over for a moment, ”how's it been with John?”

Paul glared at her.

”Are boys the only thing we're gonna talk about in these days?” he asked with a sour face and Jane laughed.

”No, darling. Only I know that you won't shut up about him, so I'm just easing your life here. Making it sound like I _want_ to hear about him.”

Paul didn't look very impressed, but he guessed that he had to admit the truth. He sighed and nodded with defeat, making Jane giggle joyfully.

”You're ridiculous,” she said with a fond voice and Paul rolled his eyes.

”Pumpkin pie, that is what I was made for,” he batted his eyelashes and Jane grimaced.

”You only started using pet names after we broke up,” she sighed and sipped her tea. ”I guess it is partly my fault for detesting them so much.”

”What can I say?” Paul grinned and shrugged nonchalantly. ”You just make my heart sing, sweetiekins.” Before finishing his sentence he took his iPhone out and checked it for any messages. John had about half an hour to go before he got off from work, and then another half an hour in the underground.

Oh. He had forgotten to-

’ _Btw, you might wanna know that there’s a bird with George’_

He sent the message quickly and glanced up at Jane with a mischievous flash in his eyes as he lifted the phone and snapped a photo of her. She managed to react by pulling on a stupid face and Paul laughed at it. He took a selfie of himself with the cake, making sure to position his head so that the light made a pretty halo around his hair, and sent both of the photos to John with a smile.

”The look on your face is so cute when you think of John,” Jane cooed and Paul glared at her. Jane would pay for this. For _everything_.

He prepared himself and went in for the attack.

”But snookums, my small honey cakes, light of my life, it sure is even cuter when I think of _you_ , cheesecake...” he trailed off and raised his eyebrows challengingly at Jane. She looked at him with her nostrils flaring.

”Do you kiss John with that mouth?” she shot back and Paul started laughing. But then an unreasonable train of thought shot up straight from the back of his mind, and for the love of God, he didn't know what was happening.

 _Kissing John_ _→_ _Liking John_ _→_ _Loving John_ _→_ _Having sex with John_ _→_ _Getting blowjobs from John_ _→_ _Having ANAL SE_ _**X WITH JOHN-** _

_'Why is the last sentence so loud,'_ he thought as he jerked and let out a groan, his head falling against the table. Jane stared at him.

He sighed and turned his head so that his cheek was resting against the cool plastic surface.

”Do you ever just feel like there was something so big going on inside your head that you don't even know what's it about anymore?” he asked in a small voice and Jane let out a confused noise through her nose.

”Er, no?” she asked and Paul looked up at her. Her radiating blue eyes were scrutinising him with a confused but slightly amused gaze. ”Care to share?”

”Cor, no,” Paul shuddered. ”Sorry, this isn't for your ears.”

Jane looked suspicious, her eyes narrowing. Paul should have chosen his words a bit better, probably.

”It's probably something really stupid that you can't help but do, even if you don't want to, but you keep doing it because something in it catches your interest-” she looked wondering and Paul was left staring at her dumbly.

Seeing his face she started laughing.

”Oh, yes, yes, I'm hitting a mark, right.”

”How do you _do_ that?!?” Paul hissed, his chocolate cake and tea half forgotten.

”Oh, _darling_ ,” she grinned, ”I didn't spend those three years with you in vain.”

Paul groaned.

”Why did I even come here with you,” he complained, making his ex-girlfriend laugh brightly.

”Because you're a masochist,” she stated and sipped her tea again. Paul wished he could drown into his own cup.

”I guess that can't be helped,” he muttered and Jane's smile was shining and _super_ annoying.

They spent some time bickering together about needless things. Then Jane placed her index finger on the table, balancing the rest of her hand on it delicately. Her nails were bright red with white dots in them. It must have taken ages to paint them.

”Tell me,” she said in a stern voice and Paul's neck started sweating. He glanced at a clock on the wall and scrunched up his face. John would be home any minute now, meaning that Paul had missed the best part of the day. Also called The Welcome Home Honey -Snog.

”What,” he said in a feeble voice. Jane frowned.

”About whatever it is that's in your mind.”

Paul bit his lip. He knew that he couldn't hide from Jane, but he could always stay quiet about… about what it was in his mind. He stuffed the rest of his cake into his mouth and shrugged uncomfortably.

”Well, things,” he tried a smile. Jane's gaze was made of pure steel.

 _'Y'know, things like sex and_ _**anal** _ _sex and other that kind of normal stuff,'_ Paul thought rather desperately. Jane raised an eyebrow.

”It's got something to do with John, right?” she asked, pressing on. Paul swallowed and shook his head a second too late. Jane's smile started resembling that of a hungry lion.

”It has,” she hissed, pleased with herself. ”Now, are you going to tell me or am I just going to keep adding pressure?”

Paul shuddered. He was almost about to open his mouth and spill out everything, even though he knew that he would regret it a lot later, when his phone buzzed.

John was a saviour.

The texts he received made him snort with laughter and soon Jane wanted to see them too. They laughed at them together, and then Jane frowned.

”He agreed accidentally to meet his mother? How did that go, by the way?”

Paul, only grateful that Jane had seemingly forgotten the _earlier_ subject for a while, could not shut up about the subject when he got going.

”She is such a _cunt_! I've never seen _anyone_ that would be such an uncaring, gormless _slag_ -”

”Woah,” Jane frowned. ”Usually you don't use that kind of language.”

”Usually,” Paul spat, his fists squeezed tightly together, ”I don't have to run into people who hurt John _so much_.” His voice came out in a hiss. He was boiling with anger, still. Julia had seemed like a person who would be warm and caring when she wanted, but somehow- somehow _totally_ forgetting that she was supposed to do that when John was present. The comments about their _sexuality_ had been totally inappropriate, and she didn't even seem to have a clue! She didn't even seem to _care_!!!

”If she _ever_ tries to come close to John again, I'll bloody _cripple_ her,” he growled through his teeth and Jane looked slightly taken aback.

”It's his mother,” she said carefully and a bit hesitatingly. ”Can you really stop her?”

”Just fuckin' _watch_ me.”

Jane looked troubled for a moment. Then she frowned, her hand going on her phone.

”What was her name again?”

Paul glanced at her face, then at her phone and at her face again.

”Julia Stanley. Are you gonna google her?”

”Yeah,” Jane muttered, ”I'm gonna find out what Wikipedia has to say about her. And if there's anything about John.”

While she was reading the Wikipedia article that Paul knew from a fact to be short and not very informative, he let his head fall into his hands. His thoughts were stumbling into a big, collected mess that contained everything he thought about Julia and their meeting, all his thoughts about the sex thing, and all the stress that George now caused him.

What did it mean that Paul wasn't allowed to come between George and John (metaphorically, he assumed)? And, for the love of God, what did George mean by offering his _help_??? Paul was silently terrified.

His thoughts went back to the fic. He assumed that he'd have to take a small pause from reading it, as he just… just _couldn't_ , okay?? The idea of him and John having sex -of reading them have sex- and enjoying it would be just- just _too much_.

Why was it so _difficult_??? Why didn't Paul just say it? He wanted it, didn't he? Maybe he could use the same tactic that had got them to the blowjob in the first place.

But then again, he had suspected that John wanted to blow him. This time he had no idea what John thought of anal sex, except that one sentence from a year back where the man had admitted that the thought even disgusted him a bit. Paul had agreed then. Now he would be ready to do about anything in an order to get into John's briefs. Or well, to get John into _his_. Literally.

He lifted his head and eyed at Jane. She was so pretty, and her hair was radiating fire and light. Paul had fallen for her instantly back then, at a theatre he had been visiting. After the play he had loitered about and managed to talk with her.

They had changed numbers that same night, and a month later they were dating and madly in love.

 _'Where did those feelings go?'_ he wondered. His life would be so easy had he still been with Jane. But then he wouldn't have John. And he would never give John up, ever.

He used to think the same about Jane, though. But… but it was not quite the same. With John he had to withstand things (including George) that wouldn't be part of being in a straight relationship. With John he had to go through stuff that made them stand stronger together (against George), and love each other more as the days passed. Sometimes it felt like it was the whole world (George) against just them two, but they stood it together.

Now, though, it didn't feel like it. Paul was getting increasingly anxious with his _need_ to have anal sex. He didn't even know where this feeling was coming from??!?! He just- it seemed so good. In all those drawings of him and John- it had looked like he was enjoying the _hell_ out of it, and why would people even want to have anal sex, ever, if it didn't feel good?

There was the prostate that Paul had heard about (from George). And apparently it could bring one the most mind-blowing orgasms.

Paul was curious, he guessed. But could curiosity really bring him to… to take John's _dick_ into his _butt_?

Hell, yes. He wanted it _so much_.

”Are you worrying about sex?” Jane's voice broke through his barriers and his head snapped up, his eyes widening.

”Wh-w-what???” he gasped and jerked backwards. Jane started chuckling.

”Well, you looked about the same for about one week before you suggested-”

”NO!” Paul waved his hand in the air, earning a few glances from people that were eating around them. He lowered his voice into a low hiss. ”It's been _two_ years. You're _not_ talking about _that_.”

”Oh,” Jane made a pretty good impression of a Disney villain, her chuckling turning into imperious laughter. ”The things I could _tell_ John! So much _everything_ -”

”You wouldn't dare,” Paul gritted his teeth. ”I knew it was a bad idea to stay in touch with you after we broke up.”

Jane laughed harder, now happily and resembling a Disney princess more. How did she change so fast, Paul didn't know. Acting??

”Darling, you love me.”

”Biscuit ball, I _adore_ you,” Paul crooned sarcastically and Jane's gaze turned thunderous. She grabbed Paul's phone, tapped in the password (that Paul hadn't changed in. So. Many. Years) and showed the screen to Paul. Her finger was hovering over the ”call” button, John's face visible on top of it.

” _Jane_ ,” Paul called helplessly, knowing that he had fucked up this time. Jane could call, and she could tell _everything_ about _everything_ that John wasn't supposed to know about. Mainly Paul's dark past and he and Jane's dark, shared past when it came to sex. Those had been some really wild times.

He wondered briefly why it had become so difficult since then, to just throw himself into the unknown.

Maybe it was because somehow, giving yourself to another man was just… such an utter show of trust that he just couldn't help but fear that John was going to let him fall.

Maybe that- maybe that was what it was all _about._

Maybe he was just scared shitless of _losing_ John.

***~**~***

Paul realised that Christmas would be in six days when he walked through a mall on his way to the bus stop. He was exhausted, and Jane had left him into a state where he just kind of looked around himself, not really noticing anything.

He did notice a sex shop when he stepped right next to it. He stopped and stared at it before sighing.

Oh, yeah. The butt plug.

He had been supposed to _practise_ with it. How was he even supposed to have nice, non-painful sex with John if he didn't even try to get used to the feeling of something in his arse?

 _'Christmas is in six days,'_ he thought slowly and then jerked as his eyes widened. Reality hit him _so_ hard right against his chest and it felt like a crocodile had ran over him.

In _six bloody days_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed and turned on his heels, hurried back towards the mall. He needed presents- he hadn't even thought of what to get for John, and it was their second Christmas together! What the fuck had he been doing with his free time?!?!

(Reading gay fanfiction about himself, his brain supplied helpfully. He groaned mentally and fastened his step.)

He soon found himself from a record shop. There weren't any big, important new records that would have interested John, or anyone else. George had already brought all the interesting CD's home during this year.

He left the shop with heavy steps, feeling rather depressed. What was he supposed to buy to John?? (The other two weren't that important. Not really.)

He was just about to enter H&M when the Minions' song blasted out with full force again. He quickly grabbed his phone with panic clutching at his chest and brought the phone to his ear with anxious glances around him. A group of teenage girls were giggling at him a small distance away.

' _Just perfect,'_ he thought with a small sigh and concentrated on the call.

“Hello?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. He was prepared for many things. He had not, however, been waiting for his mother's cheerful voice greeting him.

“ _Hello, Paul! Am I interrupting anything?”_

“Uh, hi Mum. No, you're not,” Paul said and glanced at men's shirts on his left before continuing towards the ties. “I'm shopping,” he decided to supply in and ran his free hand on top of jeans before continuing towards the tie section.

“ _Oh, for Christmas?”_ Mary's voice filled Paul to the very core and he smiled. He could not have a better mother, and he realised now how lucky he was.

“Yeah. I really got no clue, though.”

“ _Hmm. Maybe get new socks for John?”_

Paul grimaced and let out a disagreeing sound, making Mary laugh.

“I can't buy him new _socks_. He's my _boyfriend_.”

“ _Just wait for a few years and socks will become the best gift you can give to your significant other, dear. Do you have any plans for Christmas?”_

' _Sex with John,'_ shot up in Paul's mind, but he banished the thought. Not now, not _now_.

“Um, no?” he swallowed and he could imagine Mary smiling brightly.

“ _Would you lot want to come here? Or at least during the rest of the holiday?”_

Paul paused and frowned. He was quite sure that they could not get themselves out of the house before the 27 th .

“Maybe to spend the New Year there?” he asked and stopped in front of the tie section. “I gotta talk with the guys, though.”

“ _Of course, of course. How about a jumper?”_

Paul paused and turned away from the ties, looking towards where the men's jumpers were held.

“Well, he certainly likes them,” he said and started scurrying towards them. Blue, grey and brown were the most used colours, and he found himself grimacing at them. John's favourite jumper was orange, and he liked his red one as well.

There was one that caught his eye almost immediately. It was a green polo neck that had nice patterns woven to it.

’ _A bit like I’d have done it myself,’_ Paul thought and a wry smile reached his lips. _’If I knitted, of course.’_

”Mum?” he asked and Mary let out a hum. ”If we come over promise you won’t get a jumper of any kind for John.”

” _I might knit socks,”_ Mary chuckled and Paul snorted.

”You won’t. You can’t knit.”

Mary laughed and Paul went over to the polo necks, started going through their sizes. John was usually either L or M, depending on the store.

L would probably be better. Paul glanced at the price tag and grimaced. Right, George and Ringo could do with... Um, My Little Pony stickers. Paul had those in a drawer, buried under all of his old school grade papers. No one ever looked in that drawer.

Why he had the stickers, well, that was a long story. And not one Paul would willingly share. Or think about. But they were great Christmas presents to friends who could appreciate good humour. And he knew that both George and Ringo were _big_ friends of humour. They were utterly insane.

”Do you think John would like green?” he asked from his mum with eyebrows raised slightly.

” _Hmm,”_ Mary sounded wondering, _”probably. You are the one who knows him.”_

”Yeah,” Paul mumbled. ”Yeah, I’ll take this. Then it’s done and taken care of.”

He ended up taking an L size, because in the winter nothing was better than drowning yourself into an extra-sized jumper. Besides, there was always the possibility that it would get smaller in the washer. Paul had a sock that fit his thumb.

He _did_ know how to use the washer _now_. He hadn’t a few years back. Oh the memories.

He chatted with Mary rather absentmindedly while he went through the rest of the shop, looking if there was anything else that caught his attention. There was nothing, though, and soon he was walking away from the mall with a plastic bag in his hand. How he could get it smuggled past John, he had no clue.

” _How did it go with John’s mother?”_ Mary asked just as he was getting to the bus stop. Paul sighed and rolled his head, stretching his neck.

”Let’s just say that I came really close to murdering her.”

Mary let out a small ooh-ing sound that she always used to do when Paul talked about violence. She had learnt long ago that sometimes her small boy could get kind of violent in his speech.

” _Did John manage to talk about anything important?”_

”No,” Paul said, his voice full of sorrow. He was really tired with the whole Julia subject. He never wanted to think about her again.

Mary let out a small, sad sound and there was a sigh from somewhere close to her. Apparently she was communicating non-verbally with Jim.

” _Well, tell John that we are always here if he needs a parent to talk to,”_ Mary then said and Paul was filled with love and gratitude towards both his mother and father. That was true, too. John didn’t _need_ Julia, because he already had Paul. And Paul’s parents.

”Yeah,” he muttered quietly, stopping at the bus stop. ”I’ll tell him.”

There were so many things he had to tell John, but only half of them seemed possible to say.

***~**~***

“ _I'm home”_ were the words that John had been waiting for what felt like an eternity. The woman that had been with George and Ringo left after dinner that Ringo graciously offered her. John grabbed his share of the food and retreated into the bedroom, not feeling like being social in any ways. Ringo stopped by the door at some point, sharing a small look with him that told of silent understanding. The way his lips pressed tightly together told that Ringo had not forgotten yesterday, either.

When the words and the familiar voice finally came, John pulled himself out of the daze he had fallen into, got up from the bed and slowly walked into the hallway. He rounded the corner and saw Paul taking off his scarf.

He could only stare at the man and feel how all of yesterday's negative feelings fell on him at that moment. Seeing Paul after the day was like pulling a plug out from a tub, and John was the drain where all the water went.

Paul stopped in his movements and stared at John, slowly stepped out of his shoes before coming towards the older man.

He wrapped his arms around John _tightly, securely,_ and John broke.

Paul pushed him inside their room, closed the door, and held him.

***~**~***

The next day was Saturday, and John woke up to the day with a refreshed mind and calmness in his body. Paul had already left for work when he opened his eyes with some difficulties, his eyelids feeling like they were filled with extra thick porridge.

The morning went on slowly, with him almost forgetting to brush his teeth, drink his tea and eat his egg that someone had left on a plate with some white bread. He somehow felt that the real hangover had begun only _now_ , and yesterday had been him being drunk still. Well, there was nothing a cold shower couldn’t cure.

After the overall grogginess was gone, he left the flat and headed for the city. For it was time for Christmas shopping, something that he had realised only yesterday evening after going into bed with Paul. He had no ideas at all, but figured that he could probably find something by browsing random shops (just like every year). He did want to try and find something that Paul would like. The other two didn’t matter.

Several hours later he came back to the flat, slightly unsure with his finds, but too tired to spend another moment in a shopping mall. He had bought Paul a book called _A Writer’s Block? Unblock It Now,_ which seemed a bit stupid but contained _some_ usable tips. George could do with an old LP full of Christian music (George was in no ways religious, and he hated Christian music. John thought his present was perfect) and for Ringo he had a pair of socks, because he knew for a fact that the lad had somehow lost his last one in some sort of... foreplay. John didn’t know the details, and he _didn’t want to_.

Paul was still at work, and as far as he knew Ringo was as well. But George was apparently home, and as John stepped into the living room he noticed that the lad was drunk as hell.

George was lying on the sofa, an empty bottle on the floor next to him, and the smell of alcohol was so strong that John swore it hit him physically. He sighed and walked through the room, avoiding the other empty bottles that seemed to pop up from nowhere. Apparently George had planted them everywhere just to make John's life more difficult.

He opened the curtains that were closed for some reason and then opened the balcony door, letting the fresh, cold air in. He breathed deeply when clear air met his face and he let out a content sigh.

Stepping out to the balcony he closed his leather jacket again, not having taken it off, and leant on the railing, watching the rather not busy street. A few birds flew over his head and he hummed faintly, feeling a song he'd never heard before bubbling in his chest. He'd once tried songwriting, as a youngster, but then the mechanics had stolen his heart away. John wasn't sure whether to be sad or happy about that.

The reason why George was home and drunk was probably George. One needed no other explanation. Although it might have mattered a bit that the man had started his Christmas holiday yesterday. The _bastard_ . John worked from eight to four, sometimes five, on every week day without having a chance to breathe, as now he had to look after both Jeff _and_ Stuart, who proved to be good at selling stuff but helpless at remembering where everything was. So John basically took the clients to the right shelf and then sneakily changed places with Stuart. It worked, but as a result John had to be alert all the time.

He had thought about Julia while shopping. He couldn’t get his mind away from her, not yet, and he couldn’t help the terrible, small sadness that crept into his heart at the thought of how things had gone so wrong. Had he been younger, he would have transferred the sadness into anger and frustration, but now all he could think of was how _sad_ it all was. It was emotionally exhausting, especially when he knew that he should just let it go.

He had thought about Jane’s existence as well. And about Paul’s unknown sources of weirdness, and everything else that was going on right now. He couldn’t say how tired he was getting with all of it, and his mind felt numb with all the rather anxious thoughts he currently had.

Which was the reason why he didn't hear George behind him before it was too late.

A bony hand grabbed his shirt and flung him around, and then a pair of lips came crashing down on his.

He certainly hadn’t been waiting for his day to go like this.

John gasped and struggled to get away from George (who reeked of cheap ale), but George had a hell of a hold on him and John couldn't help but stay there and be kissed.

"George," he tried when George let his mouth go for a second to breath, but that was all he could manage. The next thing he knew was that George had somehow thrown him on the end of the balcony, far from the door, and the the young man was _climbing_ on top of him, pressing his body down and taking a hold of his wrists, preventing John from pushing the lad away. The floor was cold and John could feel wetness through his jeans.

"Geo, _what_ are you _doing???_ " John hissed and George laughed, his eyes rolling in his head.

"Yye need to. Need to re-a-lax," he exclaimed cheerfully and then kissed John again, moving so that he was sitting directly on top of John's crotch. John squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on breathing, thinking hard how to get out of the situation.

It wasn't the first time that George tried to take advantage on him or Paul or Ringo while being drunk (hell, Ringo didn't even care)(he encouraged it) but it didn't mean that John would have been comfortable with it. First, he was in a _relationship_ and second, _George_. No further explanation needed. Besides, the lad had never really gone this far. Usually his sexual harassment consisted of sneaky hugs and mad stares that left nothing unclear.

"C'mon, cut it off," he said when he got to breath the next time, but now George had started moving his arse. He was moaning wantonly but quietly and as the rubbing continued, John found himself hardening.

"Jesus Christ George!" he almost yelled and bucked up, tried to shake the skeleton off. But the skeleton was strong and had a manic grip on John's wrists.

"No, uh, I," George said, and John almost saw red. He knew that Paul was going to kill George when he heard about this. If he ever did. But this was not SUPPORTABLE.

"Get OFF!" he shouted at George's face and received a breath full on his face, a breath that stank so strong that John almost passed out. He made a personal note to _never_ have George drink alcohol again.

"Noooo," the lad laughed and the he brought himself down on John's crotch and John groaned through his teeth, all breath leaving him.

"See," George muttered and brought his face down, letting his lips brush past John's ear. John felt cold shivers on his spine and he shuddered, closed his eyes and brought his mouth tightly shut. "It's not difficult."

John didn't even dare to question what it was that George meant. He needed to have George off _now_.

But then George's next words stopped him dead on his tracks.

"Imagine that I’m Paul."

John took a deep breath and decided not to pay attention to George's manipulating mind.

"Imagine that he’s totally naked."

George rotated his hips and John moaned without meaning to. But he could see it; Paul naked, Paul sitting on top of him, Paul sitting _right there_ \--

"Imagine that your dick is wholly inside ‘im and he does _THIS_."

George crushed John's dick. He came down on it so hard that John was sure it broke in half. But the thought, and the memory of girls doing it to him, and the picture of _Paul_ doing it crashed down on him as well and he hissed, felt himself harden to a critical state. His eyes widened and he gasped and then George groaned long and deep, shuddering all over and spasming, his body hovering over John.

John watched him with a hazy and hesitant mind, and when George leant down and kissed him, he couldn't find the strength in him to pull away. It felt so good, but the taste was wrong. John closed his eyes, thinking vaguely that Paul would kill them both. This was just like the happening at the club; only this time John was dangerously, _really_ dangerously, _aroused_.

George sat up, laughing to himself and then, without paying any attention to John, took and left the balcony. John lied there, staring at the ceiling on top of him, slowly freezing to death, and wondered if this was part of some evil plan that would end somehow... badly.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip, not sure at all what to do.

First and foremost, getting rid of that erection would be a nice task.

***~**~***

Paul was confused. Every time John looked at him the man blushed and turned away. Had he done something wrong? What on earth could have John blushing? And why did George look so _smug_ every time his gaze met Paul's?

Why did John suddenly refuse sex that evening? The _Saturday sex??_

_What was going on???_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm like, really tired, and fighting against eating a whole packet of ice cream, so I don't know what I can say to you. Stop George?
> 
> Paul is hopeless but Jane is my favourite character. I have to find a way to include her even more without pulling John's heart out of his chest. I love Jane. I could make the whole story about her and I wouldn't complain (you might, tho)
> 
> We're now moving away from the sad parts. From now on it's George's hell 24/7. I have no clue how to save John and Paul. We all just gotta..... stand through it. Courage. 
> 
> See you next week, probably!~


	11. George Cannot Be Stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody stop PAUL
> 
> **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> **!!! The lovely piece of _smut_** was written by **[imaginebeatles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginebeatles)** to get some diversity in the writing style. I asked her to make it bad. She made it _bad_. I can't read it through without laughing. You rock, Puck  <3

John woke up with a strange sensation; someone was poking his dick.

Literally _poking_ it. With a finger, he assumed.

"Paul," he mumbled and lifted sleepily his arm over his face, "go back to sleep, for fuck's sake. It's Sunday."

"What," he heard a groggy voice answering from his left side, "I am sleeping."

"Well why're ye poking my privates then," John more or less slurred and a new poke on him happened.

"Someone's poking your privates??" Paul's bewildered voice sounded horrified and much more awake now, and John wondered why.

Another poke, and he started to get really irritated.

"Paul, seriously-!"

"I'm not doing it!"

"Well, _somebody's_ -"

John's voice died down in his throat. If Paul was not poking. _-If Paul was not poking...!_

" _GEORGE_ !!!" he shouted from the top of his lungs, jumped into a sitting position while trying to kick his _EX_ -friend away from him. It wasn't very difficult, though; George fell on his arse and started laughing hysterically while holding his stomach.

John gathered the blanket that had fallen off during the night, showing off his modesty. He and Paul wrapped it around themselves as well as they could and together crawled as far away from George as possible.

"You should... you should-" George tried to speak, but started howling with laughter again. John carefully put his hand over his dick and patted it for a few times reassuringly. George had _touched_ it. What kind of traumas the poor body part (not to mention John himself) had got???

He heard Paul wheeze right next to him and he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend to protect him from evil.

John felt like he was slowly becoming mad. Yesterday on the balcony, and now this- What was George doing?? He didn't know what was wrong with the lad; at first, he had been as normal as he could (with George that was never much) and then, just… Kaboom. Whatever was George’s cruel plan to end this world, John wanted no part in it.

“George,” Paul breathed from where he was safely in John's arms, trying to make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. “Please stop harassing my boyfriend sexually.”

“What? You _mad_?” George hissed through gasps, and for some reason Paul shut up quickly, looking away from both John and George. John frowned. He knew Paul well enough to say that the man was currently thinking about the thing he was hiding. And… the context and George’s words, Paul going quiet-

George knew what it was that bothered Paul.

Shit.

He and Paul were in this _together_.

_????_

In any other time of his life, John would have marched up to George, poked him on the chest, and said with his Mimi voice “Tell me, son”, but now he barely could be in the same house as the younger lad. He wasn't courageous enough to just go up to him. George might do something… _bad_. It was apparent that whatever had been holding back George’s need to jump in John’s bones had disappeared.

George crawled away after stating that it was dangerous in the Sea of Clothes, and they could hear him laughing with Ringo in the living room a bit after. Then Ringo's distant voice said unmistakably “Why don't you demonstrate it?” and after George had answered “Jesus. That's a permanent erection. I swear”, it became scarily quiet, and John and Paul agreed in silence that they would _not_ get out of the room soon.

“I don't know what's wrong with him,” John whispered. Paul looked at him and somehow still managed to avoid direct eye contact. How he did it, was a mystery to John. Then again, half of what Paul ever did, remained a mystery. Like that one time with the laptop. Before going to Liverpool. John had not forgotten. And all that sex. And all that unsatisfying sex. And the blushing, and the phone-using, and Jane, and-

He really should not be questioning what was wrong with himself, or George. What was wrong with _Paul_???

“Nor do I,” Paul answered in an equally quiet voice and clutched at the blanket with both hands. “I stopped questioning a few years back, but he's been… redeeming himself.”

“Redeeming?” John raised his eyebrows. Paul nodded with a blank look.

“With the devil.”

“Oh.”

After that, they didn't say anything anymore, but just stared at the wall and wondered the meaning of life. John let his head fall against Paul's head and the dark bush of hair moved as the younger man sighed.

John would find out what bothered his boyfriend. But not if he had to walk to George in an order to do it. No. Paul could keep his secrets if getting to know them included leather, dildos, and straps. John had seen George go through a BDSM site on the Internet and he was scarred and scared.

He would just have to stay away from George.

***~**~***

John was in the living room, strapped there with George who had apparently wanted to do _something_ and needed John’s help with it. Paul wasn’t too sure what it was about, and he tried not to think about it too much. Whatever it was that George was doing, Paul wanted no part in it.

He seriously hoped though that George would return John in one piece, and hopefully still with his (conceptual) virginity intact.

He made his position on the bed more comfortable, took his phone out and navigated into his browser. For some reason (he _sure_ wondered _why_ ) it opened straight with Ao3 blasting black text into his eyes.

“Ouch,” he muttered and grudgingly moved away from the tab.

He ended up in the Tumblr tag that was still open in another tab.

“Uuh” was the word that his brain supplied at that moment, and he knew that he should close his browser and go somewhere else, do something else. He should go and help John. He should go and- and feed Creature, or, or do _anything_ that wasn’t _this._

He scrolled downwards, cursing himself mentally. Without the stress that Julia had caused he could now _concentrate_ on this without hurry at all, and jUST WHAT WAS HE THINKIGN?!???!? NOOO NO NONO.

He clicked on _keep reading_ in the next fic he found (ignoring a few really good, graphic drawings of him and John (God, they were marvellous. He scrolled back up and saved them to Dropbox)). It opened on a Tumblr site that looked strangely familiar, but he tried not to pay any mind to it. The faster he was done with his... his _research_ , the better.

Which was why he wasn't touching the warrior fic. He had already seen that and knew what it was about. He seriously wasn't reading it anymore. And he certainly hadn't saved it as a PDF-file into his iBooks app after finding out that he could do it. He hadn't.

Okay, it had been an accident?? And he seriously had deleted it already.

Okay, he _hadn't_ ?? What of it?? He certainly wasn't going to _read_ it anymore.

_**That Lazy Morning** _

_PG-13, no warnings. Cuteness overload. This is just something I did because I was overwhelmed with FEELINGS for the otp._

_Morning mist embraces Paul when John walks in. The light shines in the lad’s dark raven hair and John is mesmerised by it. Over and over again his love for the younger man grows._

“ _Mornin’,” Paul says with a smile and reaches out to John, placing his hand against the older man’s chest. “Did you sleep well?”_

“ _Yeah,” John smiles, leans in and smells Paul’s hair as he nuzzles his cheek. “And ye?”_

_Paul nods with a smile, wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders. He is so in love with the man that he only ever wants to climb inside his heart and stay there._

“ _What are we doin’ today?” John asks, his head resting against Paul’s shoulder. Paul shrugs and nuzzles at the other’s neck._

“ _I kinda thought of jus’ stayin’ here with you,” he says with a soft, loving tone and John pulls back, smiling._

_He kisses Paul sweetly and slowly and then disentangles himself from his lover. He is hungry, even though he feels like he could only bask in the presence of Paul and feed himself with the warmth that he receives._

“ _Want bacon and eggs?” he asks and Paul looks at him blankly._

“ _As if you knew how to do somethin’ else,” he deadpans and John laughs._

“Huh. That sounds pretty believable,” Paul muttered, having ended up on his stomach again. He waved his feet in the air and glanced around him. There was no one spying on him quietly.

He had to admit that this fic was pretty cute.

(He felt disgusted at the mere thought) (But it was so _cute_.)

“ _I’ll put the kettle on, then,” Paul grins at John’s laugh and walks over to the kettle. John gets on cooking, and Paul looks at him with a smile on his lips. John pulls on goofy faces while the eggs are sizzling on the pan._

_They eat breakfast together, like every morning, and at some point John’s cat jumps on the table,_

“They even know about Creature?”

_making the boys laugh. The morning is slow and warm, and the dust in the air dances beautifully in sunlight._

“ _I wish every mornin’ could be like this,” Paul says softly, and John smiles at him, reaches over the table to take Paul’s hand._

« _Me too, love,” he says and Paul smiles back, and for that moment everything is perfect._

_**THE END** _

“Wow,” Paul was nearly breathless with the cuteness. “That was really too bloody cute,” he hissed at the phone. It was surely the phone’s fault that he was having this kind of feelings over a stupid little fic. But he felt like giggling and burying his head into a pillow and shout out loud, because it was just _so CUTE_.

That was the case before he read the author’s notes at the end.

_A/N: Hope you liked it! Kinda based on a true happening, although they’re never really_ _**that** _ _sappy. The eggs and bacon comment is the only thing that’s really been said. Cheers guys, till the next time! George is off_

“WHAT,” Paul yelled as quietly as he could, his jaw dropping. NO. There was _no_ way that he had just read a _fic_ written by _GEORGE_ and had _ENJOYED IT_!!! This couldn’t be _happening_!! _NO!!!!_

“No,” he whispered to confirm it to himself. He closed the page and let his head fall between his arms.

Of course he should have recognised George’s tumblr. He didn’t even _dare_ to think about what kind of horrors lurked about that place. He felt like an utter failure.

How could George _do_ this to him??? He had a really big, undeniable need to go up to John and kiss him. The fic had been just _too cute_.

He glanced at the tags in the post, shuddering inwardly at what he was doing. He should get out of this site _immediately_.

_#my fic #john x paul fic #john and paul #otp #srsly tho #there was this 1 time when they thought that me n star were asleep #n somehow after wakin up they had sex in the kitchen #not sure what john said but paul just suddenly jumped in on him #there's somethin 2 write a fic bout 4 u all #well anyway they had sex #n they burnt the eggs #john has a habit of burnin things when it comes down 2 paul #recently we lost a spatula #it was a tragic day #star was 2 tired 2 gimme a blwjob #i gave him a blowjob #i could sing arias to that dick #fic:cute #fic:otp #fic:that lazy morning_

Paul remembered that morning. He had had a dream of John fucking him.

Basically, John had told him “good morning” and Paul had lost it. Ah, the good memories.

He swallowed, convinced that he was going to regret this sooner or later, but pressed anyway of the tag _#john x paul fic_ , knowing that it would take him to all of the fics that George had written about him and John.

He could see from the page count that there was. Quite. A lot of them. He sure as hell WOULDN'T GO THROUGH THEM. NO.

Instead, he clicked on a link that was in George's sidebar before his rational mind could stop him.

_Fics_

Press of a finger.

_John x Paul_

A groan and another press of a finger.

“Christ,” Paul mumbled as the fic list presented itself in front of his eyes. It looked like a right horror. It looked like a right, _long_ horror.

**Strange Love  
Chasing Him  
Love At School  
Love And Friends  
The Evening Of Freedom**

Paul blinked and let out a small moan of pure exasperation.

“George, seriously?? These are the cheesiest names ever imaginable! I thought you could do better!”

He quieted down and glanced towards the door, listening intently. He could hear George laughing and John yelling something rather graphic about what he thought about the lad at that moment. Paul prayed for his love’s life and returned his gaze to the fic list.

He pressed on the _Evening of Freedom_ , figuring that since the last one had been cute, this wouldn’t be too bad either. The title sounded like the story would tell about an evening when there was no one else around, and John and Paul could do whatever they wanted. Usually that meant watching cheesy series from the TV.

_**The Evening of Freedom** _

_Warnings: They just can't help but go at it. PS this is unbetaed and written in the middle of a night. Srry for all the mistakes this is just warming up for more important fics_

“You couldn't really be vaguer, could you?” Paul muttered with a slightly pissed off expression. How was he supposed to know what was going to happen, if it wasn't mentioned???

Boy, did he regret opening this one as the words started to form sentences in his head.

_Paul bit back a groan and tangled his hands tightly into the sheets below him as he felt something big force its way inside of him. It felt fantastic though, the slightly painful stretch causing his dick to twitch where it hung between his thighs, red, hard and dripping with precum, leaving a small pool of it on the sheets below him._

_"Fuck... Macca, you feel so fucking tight... so hot and wet around my fat cock..." John groaned, as he leaned forward to place butterfly kisses all over Paul's shoulder blades, encouraging him and praising him for how good he was being for him. Paul bit his lip and nodded as he felt John slide all the way inside of him, spreading his rim as far as it could go._

“ _So big... so full,” he moaned, whining as he felt John pull back again, the drag of his rock hard cock against his insides feeling so sinfully good, he could not help but tighten around him, pulling him back inside of him._

“ _My gorgeous princess, tell me what you want,” John ordered, his voice hoarse as he held still inside of the younger man, feeling how he trembled in anticipation for what he knew what was coming, knowing John would make him feel good, knowing he would take care of him, fuck him good and proper, go deep and hard, until he would have him screaming by the end of it, begging to be allowed to come._

“ _F-Fuck me... Oh, please, fuck me, dammit. Need to feel you. Need your big cock ripping me open - OH FUCK!” Paul screamed that last as John forced his cock back inside with one forceful thrust, hitting his lover's prostrate directly, causing him to see stars as he felt John's cock move rapidly inside of him. He thrust on relentlessly, leaving Paul with no other option but to hold on for the ride,and allow John to take him, to fuck him exactly in the way he needed. Paul felt like he was in heaven and started to push back against him with a strangled moan, needing more. So much more._

Paul lowered the phone on the bed and twitched. His erection brushed against the bed and a moan escaped his mouth.

Ch _rist_.

He felt like someone had taken him, thrown him over a chair and spanked his whole body with a steaming hot and juicy beef tenderloin. There was sweat in every corner of his skin and his forehead was damp as he wiped a hand over his eyes. He quickly stopped doing that, though, because his hand was shaking.

_Holy_.

_Hell._

He didn’t know which was worse, his body’s reaction to the fic or that fact that he hadn’t stopped reading even when realising that he had made a mistake. He could not. He was hard as a _rock_ . As a _diamond_ . It didn't matter that the dialogue had been the absolute worst. It _didn't matter at all_ , because Paul was _aching_ , he was panting and wanted to groan, and his eyes went back to the text without him wanting it- he _wanted_ more, and, _God_ , his hand was travelling down towards his jeans. He _had_ to get off, he had to- Get. _John_.

He needed it. He _needed_ to get John inside him. He-

The door opened and Paul’s head whipped around. He met John’s eyes that seemed somewhat dazed and his cheeks were red. The man had apparently just gone through something really traumatising.

They stared at each other and then a frown broke through John’s forehead.

“What ’ave you-” he started, but he could never finish the sentence before Paul was in front of him, grabbing him and pushing the man against the door that slid shut with a click.

He smashed his mouth against John’s, forcing the other’s head to one side. John let out a helpless, surprised sound, his hands coming up to Paul’s elbows. Paul wasn’t sure whether John was trying to push him away or pull him closer, but he didn’t care. His mind was exploding at the feeling of his tongue pushing inside John’s mouth, and his stomach was in knots and his dick was straining against his jeans.

God, he wanted John so much. It felt like he was breaking from inside, because the _lust_ towards the other man was getting so overwhelming. There was a big, black ball of want in the pit of his stomach that would not go away no matter how many times John blew him, or kissed him, or rutted against him. Reading the fic had only made Paul more desperate, but he couldn’t- he didn’t _know_ how to talk to John. The only thing he could do was to ravish the man’s mouth mercilessly.

When it got to the point where John was clutching at him in an order to stay upright, Paul pulled him away from the door and pushed him on the bed instead. He quickly climbed on top of John and without hesitating started pulling the man’s (orange) polo neck away.

“ _Christ_ , Paul,” John gasped when he got a chance, “what’s _wrong_ with you??”

Paul’s hands stopped and his whole body froze.

What was _wrong_ with h-

The feeling of wrongness, of realising _how_ he _was_ crashed down on him and for a moment he just stared emptily in front of him. He didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know what to _do_ -

“It’s fine, love,” John’s voice was saying from somewhere far away, and his stress levels started rising alarmingly fast. What had he been thinking- he didn’t even know what kind of horrors John had gone through with George just now. And how did Paul just start... _kissing_ like that- what if it hadn't been John- Would he have kissed _anyone_ , or even worse, _George_??

Paul felt terrible. His hands were starting to shake and he moved, pulling away from John. The man was looking at him with a worried frown.

“Paul?”

Paul shook his head with minimalistic movements, still staring in front of him in utter shock. John sat up and reached out to him, his hands closing around Paul’s wrists.

He pulled and Paul’s body followed, and they both fell on the bed with Paul tightly held against John’s (crumbled) jumper. That was when Paul felt John’s erection against his own.

Well.

“You know you can tell me anything?” John tried again, with slight worry in his voice. Paul let out a shaky breath and nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered, but his heart was not really in it. “I’m sorry-”

“For sex? Don’t be stupid,” John snorted. “Let’s just continue. I wouldn’t be able to stand up anyway.”

Paul lifted his head, frowning.

“Why’s that?”

John flashed him a smug grin that would soon be echoed on Paul’s face.

“I’ll just say that that was one _hell_ of a kiss.”

Paul laughed and leant up to kiss him some more, although keeping his hands safely above John’s navel.

For a moment.

It never ceased to amaze him how _good_ sex could be with John. He was rather sure it had a lot to do with their emotional bond, which was deeper than what Paul had had with his girlfriends. As John's fingers buried themselves into his hair and their mouths met in a wet, deep kiss, Paul felt his rational thoughts fading behind, and then it was only him, and John, and John, and _John_.

“Can I-” John gasped against his mouth, “I'll blow you-”

“God, yes, please, _do_ ,” Paul moaned and ran his mouth over John's, sucking the man's lower lip into his mouth. Tremors were running through his body and he started moving his hips against John's, the kiss breaking at them both groaning. John's fingers slipped down from Paul's hair, touching his neck with a feathery touch, causing electricity to run down Paul's spine, sweeping over his backside and right into his balls, his body tightening.

_John inside him_

“Aah, _fuck_ ,” he hissed and bucked against John, and then they were kissing again, John's tongue pushing against Paul's, trying to take over the kiss. Paul let him, his mouth opening wide as John pulled their heads closer together, his other hand travelling downwards to Paul's spine. His fingers grasped at Paul's shirt, pulling it slightly up, before his fingertips touched the revealed, hot skin.

Paul moaned at the feeling, John's lips wet against his own. He rutted desperately against John, picking up his speed, and all the while his mind was playing _evil_ tricks about John being _inside_ him, _stretching_ him, _filling_ -

“Mate,” John sucked in a breath, his fingers halfway under the waistline of Paul's jeans, “you're gonna- you'll come before this gets fun-”

“This _is_ fun,” Paul groaned and prevented John from saying anything further by swallowing the man's tongue into his mouth. John was shivering, but his body felt frozen compared to Paul's _shaking_.

_John pushing up into him_

“God!” he almost yelled and bucked into John's hips. He abandoned the man's mouth and straightened his back, only concentrating on the feeling of John's erection pressing against his arse, moving on top of John, faster, _faster_ , hands against John's chest, squeezed into fists-

_John ripping him_ _**open** _

His mind went white, everything disappearing inside his head as his body shook, his muscles spasming as he came, a hysteric sound that started from the pit of his stomach pushing out from his mouth. He was dimly aware of John's hands clutching him, keeping him up from falling nose first into John's forehead (would not be the first time).

His body turned into jelly and he realised, after basking in the blissful feeling, what had happened.

“Christ! I'm so- s-sorry,” he gasped, a few final spasms going through him. “I didn't mean to-”

John was staring at him wide-eyed, for some reason his expression not looking as dazed as Paul would have thought. That wasn't a look John wore during sex. He looked- why did he look even slightly hesitant?

“I- um, it's fine,” the man said, swallowing a few times. “Does- does your hand work still?”

“I'll take a look,” Paul breathed, climbing up from John and falling down on the bed next to the man. He stretched his fingers in the air and cracked a small smile to John, who was still watching him with that same quizzical expression. After a small moment, it melted into a smile, and John turned to his side to face Paul properly.

“I never thought that my mere fingers could be this powerful,” he chuckled, but there was something careful in the sentence. Paul was just too much in his post-orgasmic haze to pay much attention to it. He grinned tiredly, his left hand going straight towards John's zip.

“Your fingers are almighty,” he murmured and leant closer, pressing himself against John to nuzzle at his throat. John let out a small hum, moving his head to expose more of his skin to Paul.

“I'm sure yours are too-” he said, his breathing quickening as Paul worked his dick out of his trousers. Paul smiled, pressing a kiss against John's collarbone, and squeezed with his fingers.

“Let's see some proof,” he snickered, and John laughed in a strangled voice, soon dissolving into small moans.

Paul's fingers _were_ almighty.

***~**~***

John woke up with his body covered in sweat, a gasp making its way out of his mouth. For a while he just sat in the darkness, trying to regain his breath.

_Cynthia’s lips came crashing down on his-_

“ _We haven’t had sex in ages”_

_Cynthia’s hands stuffing inside his shirt-_

He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the glowing light of the alarm clock. Six o’clock, which meant that he really had to get up soon anyway.

He tiptoed into the loo and there stared into the mirror.

Paul had been acting so weirdly. And then with the more-than-horny –sex... John couldn’t help but associate it with Cynthia, and her sudden need to “ _have a fuck”._ That time Cynthia had been scared that John was going to leave her. What did Paul fear? Why was he so- why was he so _odd_ , despite the Julia episode? He had been normal during that time, even though John was still suspicious about that strange, suave, and charismatic creature that had replaced his boyfriend momentarily.

John couldn’t help but fear the worst. Maybe Paul had been desperately trying to find out whether he still found John attractive. Maybe he had been talking with Jane again and had needed to unload his sexual frustration.

But John couldn’t see any signs of Paul possibly not wanting him anymore, otherwise than... well, the sex. How had he even managed to come so quickly yesterday? And after the kiss that started it he had seemed so- so _horrified_ with doing it- But then Paul had been as loving as ever for the rest of the evening and had wanted nothing else but cuddling and kisses.

_What was going on_??

John wiped his face with his towel and took a shit, burying his head in his hands while sitting on the toilet. He returned to the bedroom, looking at Paul’s sleeping form.

There was another matter pressing his mind as well, and that was George. John wasn’t sure what exactly the lad had done to him, but it was bad. Very bad.

Yesterday, George had insisted on John’s help, giving him no chance to get away, and then had proceeded to show him drawings and told him to choose his favourites. He had been rather demanding, threatening John with a scary-looking vibrator, and John had stood no chance.

All those drawings were of him and Paul.

Having _sex_.

Okay, he had been aware that they existed. He had found them to his horror one day when going through George’s computer (having hacked himself in) (he was really just trying to look for one delicious recipe that he knew resided in George’s browsing history, but had found Hell instead. Well.) and had checked what all the fuss was about. He certainly hoped Paul would never find them.

He had never thought that he would have to try to analyse those drawings with a scary madman waving a vibrator right next to his ear, hissing about the delights of anal sex against his neck.

He had also never thought that he would start contemplating whether it _really_ would have been bad to do it with Paul or not. He was much more educated than he had been with George. He was better at sex, too. He knew for a fact that they had been too young, that time, and that sex at that age just _couldn’t_ be that satisfying. Especially anal sex with a skeleton whom you only thought as a friend.

There was a good chance that anal sex would, in fact, feel _good._ There were enough people online praising it, and well, George and Ringo _had_ to see something fun in it, since they were going at it _all the time._

He was getting slightly curious, really. But he didn’t _need_ this on top of his mind right now.

But if someone would take it in, it would be John. There was no way that he was going to force Paul into such a thing.

He wanted to either kill George or himself if this continued.

(But the thought was completely worth thinking about, right? Paul had been okay with the blowjob. Maybe he’d go for anal as well? Maybe? John couldn’t help but be _curious_.)

With a sigh, he pulled on his work clothes (the etiquette was basically “don’t look like a hobo”) and climbed on his side of the bed, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss on top of Paul’s forehead. The man mumbled something incomprehensible and frowned in his sleep.

John smiled, pulled back, and left the room, his steps light but thoughts unnecessarily heavy.

***~**~***

Things were escalating. Paul’s _thoughts_ were escalating.

Tomorrow, with it being Tuesday, John would get to start his Christmas holiday. Paul had, by doing the Saturday shift, managed to slither himself towards the holidays a bit earlier. Unfortunately, that left him alone in the flat on a God-forsaken Monday to contemplate about what a failure he was overall in life.

They had agreed with the lads to go to Liverpool after Christmas. They had all also agreed that they possibly couldn’t get out of the flat before the 27th, mainly because of... well. They might get a bit too drunk to live comfortably through the 26th. They would leave Creature with Jeff (who spent Christmas with his parents somewhere in the western part of London) and there had also been plans to have Stuart and Astrid over for Christmas. She would arrive in two days, on Christmas eve, and John had told that Stuart’s concentration was slipping at work. Paul could understand that _so_ well.

He let his head fall into his hands and sighed deeply. He had to find a way to _talk_ about… this whole mess with John. It was not okay that John was starting to think that Paul wanting to have wild sex with him was _wrong_? He didn’t know the reason though, why John’s mind had immediately gone to the thought that something was not right. Maybe it had something to do with whatever George had done.

But how to find words? He was good with them but only when they didn’t contain terms “sex”, “anal” and “gay”. He felt like everything was falling on him.

He needed help.

But the problem was just that. He knew that he could never talk about this to George or Ringo. George because the lad was basically the core of everything evil on Earth, Ringo because then George would’ve known everything anyway. (Of course, Paul knew by now that everything he did somehow came to George’s knowledge anyway. There was no escaping his evil, spidery and bony fingers. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.) His parents were out of the question, of course.

Who else knew both John and Paul and could be at least a bit trustworthy? Not Jeff, no, and Paul would _never_ talk to Jane about this. EVER.

But…

He sat up straight and grasped his phone before stopping. No. John was at work. He couldn’t call now. He’d have to wait until John would send him a message from a grocery store (they were out of _everything_ ) (and _Christmas_ was coming. Which basically meant that they would have to eat themselves full. Once a year it was necessary, and on 26th Paul wanted to wake up with the feeling of being a toy that had been stuffed with too much... stuff).

Yes, this would do. He would do this. He just had to wait for some time...

He resigned on playing Temple Run 2 till that.

***~**~***

(He broke the record John had previously made three months back. Their high scores were getting insane.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I'm an _expert_ at Temple Run 2. Seriously. I'm not even kidding ~~and i half wish i was~~
> 
> The plot is thickeniGN! is the grand finale coming??? who is Paul gonna see?? am i ever gonna survive my latin exam that is in one week?? no. why'd you even think so
> 
> *fidgets* can i kill goerog?
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_


	12. George Acquires The News Of His Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody stop PAUL
> 
>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca

“I gotta say that I’m a bit baffled... _why_ would you wanna set up a meeting?” Stuart stared at Paul, for once without his sunglasses, his blue eyes inquiring the younger man with interest and mild confusion.

Paul opened his mouth to explain, _why_ exactly he was sitting on Stuart’s sofa at the moment, hugging a pillow and looking very much miserable. He had planned a nice lead up to the actual problem, but what came out of him instead was,

“I wanna have anal sex with John but I don’t know how to ask it from him.”

“Jesus,” Stuart rubbed his forehead, “is sex all you can think about?”

“No!” Paul looked horrified as Stuart sat next to him, his expression a bit stressed now. “I mean… lately, uh, yeah.”

“So,” Stuart sighed and met Paul’s eyes, pushing his lip to a slight pout, “what’s it got to do with _me_?”

“Uh, I, well, I need some advice,” Paul muttered and turned his head away, hugging the pillow (Stuart’s sofa pillow. Very nice pillow) tighter against him. “I really, _really_ need some advice. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m _exploding_ -”

“Okay, okay, hold it right there,” Stuart held his hands up. “I am _not_ drunk enough for this conversation. Say, wine or beer?”

Paul looked up and was just about to say ‘beer, thanks’ when Stuart continued almost without a pause, standing up.

“No no, wine it is. This needs wine. _Lots_ of wine. You and I are first going to get _so_ drunk, and _then_ you can talk how you wanna bugger the pretty behind of my co-worker. Wine. Good, strong red wine. Yes.”

Stuart disappeared into the kitchen and Paul heard the sound of bottles and glasses clinking together. When the older man came back, he had a bottle of Spanish red wine with him and two beer glasses.

“Too fancy with wine glasses,” he shrugged when Paul raised his eyebrows, “besides, you can drink more with these.”

It was a good logic, Paul decided and went with it without questioning much further. Now there was only one thing burning right on his tongue.

“I- Stuart, it’s me, I want him to- to take _me_ -”

“NO!” Stuart yelled and opened the bottle with a yank, “I don’t.” He waved the bottle opener (with the cork in it) right at Paul’s face threateningly, “Want to. Hear about it. Yet.”

“Okay,” Paul said, sounding even to his own ears like a small child, and took the empty glass from Stuart to hold it as the man filled it with alcohol. Alcohol, Paul could always take. Feelings and relationships, not so.

They drank in silence for a while, sometimes commenting on the taste of the wine. Paul thought it was nicely subtle and fruity, and surprisingly sophisticated. In Stuart’s opinion, it tasted like piss.

“You’re meant to chuck it down without a second thought,” Stuart insisted and Paul giggled, trying to balance his body with the glass in one hand, the other tightly wrapped around the pillow.

“No, you waffle head, wine’s meant to be savoured,” he snorted and Stuart shook his head violently, holding both the bottle and the glass in the air.

“ _This_ wine is meant for getting _druuunk_ ,” he drawled the word and offered Paul some more. Who was Paul to say no?

(A tiny little voice at the back of his head said that John wouldn’t be too pleased if he had to fetch a dead drunk boyfriend from his co-worker’s place, especially if the said co-worker was also drunk as a sailor. A much louder voice then however reminded that John and his first kiss had happened because of George, in a Spin the Bottle -game, them being drunk and not knowing what happened, and he decided that he had earned this wine. John could lick his arse.) (Not literally, though. Paul was sure he wouldn’t like _that_. Rimming would be _gay_ , right? Rig _ht_??)

“Now,” Stuart let out a satisfied sigh and leant back on the sofa, eyeing the empty wine bottle with slight disappointment, “ _now_ you can tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“I… wanna have sex with John,” Paul said, nicely dizzy but not drunk enough to face his problems without a dark cloud covering him.

“Okay. I thought you two were kinda like rabbits goin’ at it, so I’m not sure I understand,” Stuart was now seemingly much more comfortable with the subject as he chucked the last bit of his wine into his throat. Paul looked at him blankly.

“We do not.”

Stuart shrugged.

“John has a certain dazed expression on his face more than often.”

“Oh”, Paul took a deep breath, “but it’s not sex. It’s- okay, it’s sex,” he corrected himself when Stuart fixed him a particularly empty look, “it’s just not… anal.”

“’N you. Want to. Have anal?” Stuart closed his eyes and frowned, probably trying to wrap his mind around the idea. “You know that I live in a celibate, right? Girlfriend abroad ‘n all that? Why’d you ask _me_?”

“I know how stuff _works_ ,” Paul snapped and felt close to crying. He hugged the pillow and sniffed. His head was swinging and he wished for more wine. “I jus’ don’t know how to _ask_. What if he’s disgusted? What if he _leaves_ me???” he inhaled shakily and felt Stuart’s eyes upon him.

“Mate, he’d never leave you,” the other man said slowly, straightening himself clumsily and putting an awkward hand on Paul’s shoulder. “He’s completely besotted with you. You should hear him at work.”

“I _know_ ,” Paul mumbled, “but what if I give him too much pressure by askin’ this? What if, what if he feels like he can’t stay with me when I ask too much? He left Cynthia, why wouldn’t he leave me too?”

“More wine,” Stuart deadpanned and went to fetch some more. But this time he himself didn’t take any, but filled Paul with it. Paul was full. Of wine. Red wine. He was _drunk_.

And so, he ended up sobbing against the pillow.

Stuart listened to his stupid babbling about George and John and anal and everything, and Paul even mentioned the butt plug, which made the other man blush furiously. Paul didn’t notice, however. He had got lost in the thought of John’s nice, hairless chest. It was _so_ nice.

“So…” Stuart started carefully after a long silence, in which he stared at Paul and Paul stared at the air, imagining how John would cry out if Paul sucked his nipples. “Are you afraid of trying anal?”

“Nno! - _Yes_ ,” Paul said after a second and blinked. “I wansn’t… wash _not_ a queer ‘fore I met Jjjohn.”

“And?”

“What if- wha’ if ‘mhetero jushh pretendin’ t’ be gay?”

Stuart groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“C’mon Paul!” he then exclaimed and threw his hands in the air, “I’m fairly sure that if you were, you _wouldn’t_ dream about havin’ anal sex with John, _or_ think wantonly of his biceps ‘n how you wanna _lick_ ‘em!”

“I wassh _not_ ,” Paul was outraged. Stuart pressed his lips together.

“You were mumblin’ about it,” he shrugged and Paul blinked, his mind very hazy. He started crying again.

“For God’s sake!” Stuart sighed and patted Paul’s shoulder. “It’s not that bad, really. You should jus’ trust yourself, ‘n your love for John. And John. You should trust John _more_.”

“I do! I _do_!” Paul cried and started wailing.

“Oh for-” Stuart began to say, but the doorbell suddenly ringing stopped him. He turned his head and looked towards the door, then at Paul.

“Try to pull yourself together,” he said before standing up and walking out of the living room.

He rubbed his forehead and shook the last drops of alcohol from his mind. The wailing McCartney had already kind of done that job for him, although he knew that he’d have some difficulties sleeping later. And he shouldn’t really drive now, but if he had to take Paul home-

“Stu.” 

Oh. Well.

John’s eyes met his as he opened the door. The man had his leather jacket thrown on hastily and car keys in one hand. “Is Paul here?” he looked confused and a bit bewildered, taking in Stuart’s baffled face and the clear signs of drinking in Stuart’s slightly opened shirt and ruffled hair.

“Yeah, actually, on the sofa,” Stuart said slowly and glanced behind him before returning to look at John. “He’s… John, he’s a bit… stressed up. And really drunk.”

“Paul’s stressed up and drunk on your sofa??” John’s eyebrows rose high and he started coming in, pushing Stuart to the side in the progress. “Is he alright?”

“Well, aside from the fact that he’s been crying non-stop for the last hour or so, then yeah.”

“ _Crying_???” John looked totally horrified now. “He _never_ cries!”

“He does, ‘n I would know!” Stuart frowned. “How did you know to come ‘ere anyway?”

“He left me a note,” John kicked his shoes off and started heading towards the living room. “Said to come and get him if he wasn’t home at 8.”

“So he had it all planned,” Stuart sighed and pushed the door closed, stopping the cold wind of December from invading his house.

John stood still for a while, finally seeming to catch on that something wasn’t really right. He turned and met Stuart’s eyes, suddenly a wild and protecting flash in them.

“What’s going on?” he then asked, and his voice was calm, terrifyingly so, and Stuart was suddenly happy that he was on _John’s_ side.

“Go into my bedroom, _very_ quietly, while I go and… I don’t know, distract Paul somehow. We gotta talk,” he gave his co-worker a stern glance before turning and heading for the living room. He heard John’s silent huff and then his footsteps going the other way.

He shouldn’t have worried too much as he entered the living room. Paul was still clutching the pillow (Stuart had started thinking of gifting it to him) and was lying on his side on the sofa, a slight snore coming from him. Stuart checked that he would safely _stay_ on his side by stuffing a few more pillows behind the lad’s back and then, taking the glasses and the empty bottles with him, closed the door firmly and quietly made his way to the bedroom.

He took a deep breath when John looked at him expectantly, hands crossed over his chest. His eyes glanced at the empty wine bottles and he didn’t look very pleased with that. Stuart was _this_ close to feeling terrified.

“Paul’s… He’s got a _lot_ in his mind at the moment.”

He wasn’t sure at all how to tell John that something was going on without referring to the actual problem. Paul had told him all about it between sipping and sobbing. And, well, what was there to it? Paul wanted to have sex, didn’t know if John wanted to be with him if he said something about it, and George was awful? That was basically all of it.

“I know that, yeah,” John narrowed his eyes, “he walks into walls and stares into space before blushing and basically trying to hurt himself with whatever he’s got in his hands. I _know_ that there’s something in his mind.”

“He walks into walls?” Stuart looked at the other man with a bewildered expression. John nodded and something faintly fond passed over his expression.

“He does. And then he tries to deny it with his nose bleeding.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Wouldn’t you know,” John’s voice was slightly dangerous, and Stuart got it. He _understood_. He held up his hands and started saying in a rush,

“Oh God, John, no. Whatever you think that’s going on, you’re probably wrong. There’s nothing -I mean, a friendship, I guess, yeah- between me’n Paul-”

“I’m not thinking anything, at least about you,” John said silently, “but I _do_ wonder. Although I know that Paul’s too transparent. I’d see right away if he was even _thinking_ of anyone else than me. Which is why I’m so _confused_. And I’ve had my doubts as well,” he looked downright afraid at that moment, and Stuart felt a small pang of sympathy. Just a small one.

“There’s nothing between us, and I doubt Paul would think about _anyone_ but you. Really. I’ve seen him drunk,” he said and discovered that he was still feeling a bit light in the head. He shook his head stupidly and moved past John, sitting on his bed. His big, lonely, cold bed. Well, Astrid would come for tomorrow. He could do this... “But I need to… ask you something.”

“Go on,” John glanced at the bedroom door with a slightly impatient look on his face, probably thinking how nice it would be to just take Paul home and get under the covers and _sleep_.

“What do you think,” Stuart took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, “about anal sex?”

He was met by an overpowering silence, and Stuart’s only thought was ‘oh God, I am too sober for this’.

Then, slowly, John blinked and his eyebrows rose higher, and higher, and oh dear, how could they go _that_ much up? Stuart had always thought that Paul’s eyebrows were unbeatable, but apparently, it wasn’t so.

“Are you,” the man then started, very, _very_ slowly, “ _suggesting_ something???”

“No!” Stuart cried out and jumped to his feet, waving his hands around. “Just answer the question, oh Jesus, don’t _make_ me have this conversation!”

“Something with Astrid?” John looked a bit doubtful when Stuart nodded hesitantly (and he would hear about this for _ever_ when John and Paul had cleared it all up). Then the man frowned.

“I think it’s a bit different between same-sex couples, though, or is it?”

“I don’t care!!!” Stuart yelled and dragged his fingers down on his cheeks and then up again, shaking himself. “What. Do you. _Think_.”

John was now very confused, by the expression on his face, but Stuart didn’t care. He wanted this gay circus _exterminated_.

“I- I don’t know,” John then finally started, his cheeks lighting up in a rather charming rosy colour, and Stuart felt close to exploding. John probably saw it, as he hurried to speak, raising his hands calmingly.

“I mean I don’t know what to think about it. It’s fine if people... want to do it. I mean, I used- used to think of it as a forever no -thing, but... I guess it _can_ be pleasing. With the right person.”

Stuart felt emotions surge behind the blank mask that his face had fallen into.

That was everything he needed to finish the game.

John was not totally opposite to it, and his words even suggested (Stuart cringed inwardly) that he would be fine doing it with Paul. He would only have to pass on the information, but how? How to make Paul _believe_ that John wouldn’t walk out on him. And how to keep this away from George and Ringo, because if anything ensured a catastrophe, them knowing this surely would?

He had been in the whole mess for about two hours, and he was already prepared to do drastic things in an order to get out of it.

And he then he knew exactly what to do.

“Ask Paul what he thinks about it,” he said and gave John a look that told that it was an order, “then see what he answers. Then you can move on and ask what he’s stressing about. That’s all I can say.”

“Paul’s stressing about anal sex?” John was now totally appalled and Stuart thought only that ‘ _Christ, he is_ _ **fast**_ _’_.

“Well…” Stuart shrugged and John narrowed his eyes, “I wouldn’t know. You should ask him.”

“Okay...” John said in a suspicious drawl and Stuart felt sweat break his forehead. “But maybe I'll just take him home first.”

“Yeah. Do that. Not in my house.” Stuart gasped with one breath. John looked at him still with narrowed eyes, opened his mouth to say something, but Stuart had had enough.

“ _Nothing_!!!” he yelled and then started pushing John out of the room. “Go fetch Paul! Out, both of you! Out!!”

“Geez, Stu,” John huffed with widened eyes as he straightened himself in the corridor and started walking towards the living room. “It's like you got ants in your pants.”

“Wouldn't be the only one,” Stuart mumbled to himself as he stepped behind John to make sure that the two unbearable men would get _out_ of his house.

Paul was still snoring on his side, clutching at the pillow as they entered the room. John sighed, with a worried but fond look in his eyes, and Stuart had to look away. John's expression was way too sugary to stand.

“You reckon he could be woken up?” John lifted his eyebrows at him then. Stuart shrugged.

“Who knows before you try?”

John chuckled faintly before turning to Paul and leaning over him. He placed a gentle hand on Paul's arm and shook.

“Paul,” he called with a soft voice and Stuart wanted to _vomit_. “Paul, wake up. You're drunk and I'm your boyfriend and you're sleeping on a different man's sofa. C'mon love.”

Paul didn't react in a spectacular way. He let out some sort of a sound that resembled the ensemble of the letters 'r', 'f', 'g', 'm', 'b' and 'l'. If Stuart had to reproduce it somehow, he would have probably said “fgrmblgfg”. John didn't seem to be very surprised.

“Yes, that is a nice pillow,” he said in a business-like voice and Stuart wondered how much of this John had gone through to be able to _understand_. Paul squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but John shook his head.

“Oh, no, none of that, Paul. C'mon. I'll take you home.”

Paul's head lolled to the side when John pushed him to make him lie flat on his back, and then the miracle happened. Paul opened his eyes.

He squinted at John, let out a few incoherent noises, and then spoke.

“Fffuckin' ffuck me _right_ up the arshe.”

John stared. Stuart stared.

“In the… up the arrsse. I wannnt,” Paul slurred.

John stared.

Stuart let out a sudden shout of terror.

“Not on my sofa!” he said urgently. “Not in _MY_ house!!”

Paul started giggling uncontrollably. John still hadn't blinked, and he seemed to be frozen in his spot. But then something sparked behind his eyes (Stuart didn't want to know) (was it relief??) and the man moved, starting to wrap his arms around Paul to pull the lad up.

“You and I, love,” John then sighed as he tugged and got Paul into a sitting position, “are going to have a discussion a bit later.”

“ _Yeshh_ ,” Paul slurred, his eyes rolling in his head. “After the _fuck_.”

The pillow dropped to the ground and Stuart _saw it_.

Paul was hard as a rock, and Stuart needed him out _now_. John didn't seem to be hazed at all by Paul's current… state, but looked more disturbed by Paul's _words_.

“Oh,” Paul continued and he looked at John, letting out a desperate moan. “I need yer dick in mmee RIGHT nnoow.”

John stared. Then he turned his head painfully slowly and met Stuart's gaze. Stuart wasn't sure if John had blinked yet or not.

“He's… not normally this open about this kinda stuff,” John then breathed and Stuart feared the man was going to have a panic attack of some kind. “He usually… hyperventilates if George says the d-word?”

Stuart scratched the back of his head and shrugged.

“It was good wine?” he suggested and John blinked this time, several times in a row before glancing at Paul, who was staring at John with cloudy, dreamy, and _lust-filled_ eyes.

“Apparently,” John answered, and then he hauled Paul up and was carrying him outside, pushing him into the car before Stuart could utter a word. After getting himself in rather quickly as well, John rolled down the window and leant on the opened space.

“I think I need to rethink the way I think of Paul,” he said blankly and Stuart chuckled, not being able to help himself. After a while John grinned as well, although looking a bit green on the edges. “I’m just really relieved, though. I thought this was completely something else.”

He paused and looked hesitating, and Stuart wondered briefly just _what_ had been going through John’s mind while Paul had been stressing about sex.

“I'm not… what he said, it doesn't bother me,” John then lowered his voice and Stuart leant in closer, raising his eyebrows questioningly. John glanced at Paul, who was sleeping in the backseat, and then back at Stuart.

“It's that, he's gonna remember this in the morning. He always does, somehow. And he's gonna realise what he said. And he's gonna have a panic attack and I will have to call an ambulance and they will have to give him meds that will make him fall into a coma and then I'll have to live in a celibate for the next ten years.”

Stuart stared at John and then coughed.

“Are you… sure?” he asked and fell silent at John's nod and the worried crease in his forehead.

“Maybe, if he realises it after he's recovered from the hangover, I might be able to persuade him to have sex with me before the meds start affecting,” John was now more or less mumbling to himself. Stuart glanced at Paul and felt suddenly very worried.

“John,” he said and John met his gaze, raising one eyebrow. Stuart sighed.

“Just… you know, he's been stressing over it for ages, now, I heard.”

John nodded. Stuart bit his lip.

“So… don't be too harsh on him?”

“Why would I be?” John asked with a bewildered voice. “And have you met this man? Even Mimi couldn’t be too harsh on him. At maximum, I can scowl at him, and then apologise right away and kiss it away. Besides,” John shook his head in resignation, “you should've seen him after he'd confessed that he loved me. It was an accident as well. And I bet nothing can beat that reaction.”

“What did he do?” Stuart inquired, tilting his head. Paul let out a loud snore and John fought a smile.

“He… basically, he started… rambling about having an internal crisis and wanting to get an appointment with the Jehovah's witnesses. And he fell from the bed several times.”

“Wow,” Stuart whistled lowly. “From a love confession. I certainly do not envy you.”

“That's good,” John grinned, “because I am certainly not sharing any part of my small, fearful, innocent and virginal panic machine.”

He waved at Stuart, closed the window, and drove away soon after, leaving Stuart to ponder that maybe, _maybe_ , living in a long-distance relationship wasn't so bad after all.

He certainly wished that the next time he heard from Paul, it would be without crying and alcohol. Somehow, he had a feeling that it was not going to be so.

Seeing as that time would be the Christmas day.

***~**~***

John squeezed the wheel tightly as he drove, his lips pressed together. Right. _Right_. So, _that_ was what Paul had been stressing about all this time.

_RIGHT._

He truly feared that Paul would go into a hysteric mode right after waking up. What if John had to live in a celibate for the next ten years? Could he take it? How could he live through George's reign of terror alone?

?????

John was feeling rather shocked. And hot. He was, actually, maybe, a bit turned on too. Well. Those drawings that George had shown had been rather, er, _exciting_ , really (even though John would _never_ admit it to _anyone_ ), and now as Paul had _clearly_ voiced his deepest interests…

How had it come to this? When had Paul started thinking about it? And _how_?!? That was what John wanted to know. How, by Jesus and all his thirteen men, had _Paul_ got _this_ into his mind???

What if- oh God, John was _never_ going to get over this smoothly- what if Paul had- had read _fanfiction_? Oh, no, no no. That would- that would explain pretty much. Everything.

John was half-way panicking when they arrived at the flat. He parked Ringo's car and carried Paul up the stairs like the loving boyfriend he was, even though he was having a huge crisis. He would have to know.

John knew what kind of shit moved in the deep waters of the Internet. He knew what kind of rubbish moved in the deep waters of _George's_ computer. And if Paul had stumbled upon any… of… _those…_

John didn't know whom he should kill, Paul, George, or himself. Maybe Ringo just for the sake of compromising.

He ended up ringing the bell, because getting his keys out would be a right pain in the arse with drunken McCartney in his hands. The door opened not much later and Ringo's rather wide eyes met his.

“Er,” the older man just commented and raised an eyebrow, looking slightly worried. “Is everything alright?”

“Unless he's got an alcohol poisoning, then not,” John sighed and pushed himself in, Ringo hurrying towards the bedroom to open the door. George was nowhere to be seen, at least not in the hallway, but John knew he was home. Plotting. Sinning. Doing whatever he did on his free time.

He carefully walked over the Sea, placed Paul on the bed on his side and then straightened his back, looking over to Ringo. Ringo looked at him questioningly.

“He was at Stuart's place,” John said, placing his hands on his hips. He was feeling knackered, and stressed, and _horny_ , and things were not looking good for his future. He was already mentally preparing his right hand for the Task Of Ten Years.

“He got drunk at Stuart's place?” Ringo sounded confused. John would have been as well. Had been.

“Yeah,” he said,

(c!!!hR!!!!ooRuS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. And have sex. _SHIT_.

“Apparently there was something really pressing on his mind,” he said carefully, watching Ringo's reaction. The lad looked cheerful.

Like, overly so.

“ _Was_?” Ringo asked casually, leaning on the doorway. John crawled on top of the bed, just to avoid the floor.

“Er, well,” he started, looking hesitant. At that moment, he knew that Ringo knew.

That proved that George had known as well.

And John had once again fallen into George's wicked plan to destroy him.

“I-” he searched for the right words. Ringo looked at him with his blue eyes shining with such trustworthy light, but John knew the man was traitorous as hell. He was a _TRAITOR_. 

What if the real mastermind of this house was Ringo? John could never know what the man was truthfully thinking about, with those sympathetic, gentle eyes, a soft cheerful smile, and the most down-to-earth look on his face covering up his true, lecherous nature.

Oh, dear. What if Ringo was actually behind this _all_??? He had _always_ been there, behind the curtains, laughing to himself while George, Paul and John had been going at it. Laughing.

_Laughing_ .

“Haaaaaaa,” John said, his jaw moving but nothing else coming out but a long, breathy exhale. Ringo blinked.

“You okay?” he asked with a slightly hesitating voice, tilting his head. John nodded stiffly.

“Yeah,” he said, his expression blank. “Never been better.”

“Right,” Ringo frowned. Then he stayed quiet and stared at John.

He was waiting, but John had no idea what to say. _Yes, Well, I Have Just Found Out That I Could Have Anal Sex With My Boyfriend_ (single of the year, written and performed by John Lennon, published by Desperate Horny Thoughts)-

He had a feeling that it would do no good to just blurt that out.

“Yeah,” he collected himself a bit, imagining that he was going through Mimi's interrogating. That somehow always managed to make him a suave liar. “He's been stressing about Julia so much. This was… releasing his stress.”

Ringo looked like John's suave lying had come to an abrupt end as fast as it had started. John held his stare with a hopeful expression.

The older man raised his left eyebrow, looking doubtful.

“Releasing stress by drinking at Stuart's place?”

“ _Yes_ ,” John said. “Yes. Exactly.”

“Rrrriiiiiight,” Ringo tilted his head, starting to take a step away from the door. “If that's what you say...”

John had a feeling that Ringo had no problems in guessing why John was lying.

***~**~***

Paul woke up to a terrible, terrible pounding in his head. He didn't know what time it was, or how long he had been unconscious. His last memory was him hugging Stuart's pillow (it had been _very_ nice) (all blue and stuff) and Stuart being somewhat exasperated with the whole ordeal. Well, Paul could understand that.

He turned on the bed with a groan, sure that at least _something_ had been brutally murdered inside his mouth during the night. Why had he drunk so much? _Why_??

 _'Well,'_ he thought through the constant hammer hitting his forehead, _'it was good wine.'_

He looked to his right towards the nightstand and saw a painkiller waiting for him, just as he had expected. At the same time, his eyes met the alarm clock that was sitting next to the pain killer, ticking away innocently.

It was 15 o'clock.

“ _Bloody_ -” Paul started and sprang to his feet, only to fall back on the bed with a groan. His head was splitting and he had just _seriously slept half of the day_?!? Why had no one woken him up???

He dragged himself towards the pain killer and chucked it down without hesitation. Even if it was an elaborate plan from George to drug him with paralysing medicine and then have wild sex with him, he was ready to take that risk.

Half an hour later he had pulled on his jogging bottoms, a black t-shirt and a jumper over it. He didn't care much how he looked like; it was more important now to get something to drink and make sure it _wasn't dishwater._ Opening the door to the hallway seemed just like an ordinary task amongst others.

Except that it wasn't. Just before his hand took a hold of the handle there was a tremor in his spine, and a _really_ bad feeling. He had sometimes as a child imagined that he was a Jedi and he had Force abilities. He now feared that this future had actually come to pass.

Oh, please, whatever had happened, whatever he had _done_ , please, whatever gods there were out there, _please_ let his bad feeling be just a product of the headache.

He opened the door and the world around him crumbled to tiny pieces right at that moment.

On the opposite wall, there was hanging a pennant that had been decorated with pink hearts and glitter. It was what had been written in it, though, that made Paul wish to hang himself right at that moment.

_REMEMBER THE CONDOM_

“Oh no,” he whispered, taking a step back inside the room, staring at the pennant with horror. No. There was no way this was happening. _Why_ would George- why _now-_ just _WHAT_ had Paul done last night???

“Oh no,” he repeated, not able to believe it. He stared at the c-word. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

And then George blasted out in front of him from _nowhere_ , wearing the _biggest_ grin _ever_ known to human kind.

“Paaaaauuull,” he drawled and Paul let out a small, terrified noise. He took a step back, George following him into the room. “Congrats on comin' _out_.”

“What,” Paul said helplessly, but it was no use. George's words were shooting him like arrows, burying themselves inside his heart like spikes that had been covered in condoms and dildos and butt plugs.

 _'The butt plug. I forgot it,'_ a thought passed through his head, but it disappeared as fast as it had come. Congratulations? On coming _out_????

“George,” he opened his mouth several times in a row, his throat dryer than ever, “just what- what- _what?!_ ”

George laughed, his voice pure and devilish. Purely devilish.

“Don't ye remember? Well, ye might wanna ask John a few things when he gets back.”

“Gets _back_?”

“Yeah,” George called cheerfully and waved his hand, dancing out of the room and into the hallway. “He's somewhere collectin' himself! I'll be wrappin' yer presents, no peeking!”

He was gone before Paul managed to utter a word, cheerfully whistling on a Christmas tune. Paul waved on his feet for a moment before rushing forward, grabbing the pennant. He tore it down without much of a thought, making sure that the tape didn't leave any marks on the wallpaper.

What. _What had he done_? Or _said_. Oh, God.

Paul had a feeling that he was screwed.  But, hopefully, maybe, in more ways than just one as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm interested in hearing, how many of you guessed it'd be Stu? This chapter is the reason why I have so much sympathy for him. I identify with him so bad. I want this gay circus exterminated.
> 
> Also, is it just me, or is the tension between John and Paul just increasing constantly, soon reaching the clouds.....? something,, oughta....... _snap soon_
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_


	13. George Is Surprisingly Making People Happy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> ALSO,, this chapter is the reason for the ringo/paul tag that has been sitting amongst the other tags since the very beginning. see if you can find that from this overall chaos

By the time John got home, Paul had managed to become somewhat presentable. He had ended up cooking dinner for him and George, not knowing about Ringo's whereabouts. He had to admit that sausages and eggs didn't make the most marvellous meal in the entire world, but it would do. He hadn't eaten it with George, though. He didn't dare to.

He had barricaded himself into he and John's room and thought about possibly leaving the country before John came. He had _no_ memory of what he might have done, but George's pennant had already told something. Mainly that Paul really didn't want to be in this house at the moment.

All thoughts of getting away disappeared when John opened the bedroom door, just like he always did, and looked at Paul with a slightly expecting expression, which he always did. It was as if John was constantly waiting that Paul did something unexplainable again.

They stared at each other, and Paul started sweating. Then he coughed and rocked a bit back and forth on the bed, his legs crossed in front of him.

“Just so you know,” he averted his gaze and stared at the photo wall with faked interest, “I have no memory whatsoever of what I've possibly said yesterday.”

He heard a small sigh. Was it disappointment? Then John stepped into the room, closed the door, and hopped over the clothes to the bed. He lifted his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

“I thought you always had? A memory, afterwards, I mean,” John said and Paul shrugged.

“Not when I've gone unconscious.”

“So you were unconscious,” John muttered to himself and Paul looked at him, a frown breaking his forehead. Why was John looking so _disappointed_???

“I guess so?” he tilted his head, getting a bit curious against his want. Not really that he wanted to know what he'd said. No, no, no.

They sat in silence for a long time before John took a deep breath, looking like he was going to say something. Paul prepared himself mentally for _anything_ , but nothing came out. John snapped his mouth shut and turned his head away, starting to fiddle with his fingers.

If this continued, Paul was going to lose his cool and start screaming with a volume that topped all opera singers.

He looked around the room, testing the words in his mouth. _'By the way, did I say anything about sex? No? Hahaha. Groovy. How was the day?'_

Even he realised how stupid it would be to say that.

Wasn't this the kind of thing that created cracks in the relationship, caused fighting and all that kind of stuff? What if they broke up? What if John wanted to leave Paul? Paul would die. He would- he wouldn't be able to go on. Not after a year of trying to adjust to being… _gay_ (GAY!!!). If John left him, all that would crash down on Paul and he could never, ever get over it. He could probably never get back into a relationship, because he would be searching for another John. And there was no one like John.

He was quickly working himself up into some sort of a panicking state. John leaving him was probably his biggest fear, and what if this small thing (only wanting to have anal sex, no big deal) got bigger and bigger and then before they noticed plates would be flying and the neighbours would be praying for them to break up with all the screaming-

“Paul?” John's voice shot out from the silence and Paul's head snapped towards the man, his thoughts interrupted. He felt like he had just run a marathon, even though he was quite sure it wasn't visible to John. He might have been panting a bit, though.

“Yeah?”

“Uh,” John said and he quieted down, moving his eyes on his fingers again. Paul wanted to tear something down. Preferably the stupid wall that stopped them from talking about _sex_.

“ _Yeah_??” he asked and could already see how the cracks in their relationship were starting to form. He didn't _want_ to talk about this, but he _needed_ to discuss the fact that he wanted a dick up his arse. They needed it, and Paul would be fucked if he let even one day more pass without bringing this up. (Or, well, _not fucked_.) 

_'But why did it have to be Christmas Eve of all days??'_ he groaned mentally and braced himself for whatever John wanted to say.

Silence filled the room again before John spoke, and Paul had _not been ready_.

“What do you think about anal?”

Paul wheezed and fell off the bed.

“Paul!” John's alarmed voice called him, probably because Paul was now lying directly in the Sea. He could swear he felt something move under his back before a hand grabbed him and pulled him back on the bed.

“What if it drowned you???” John said and Paul felt the man's hand shaking on his shirt. He wasn't sure how he had managed to fell. He had been sitting in the middle of the bed.

“A-a- _anal_??” Paul more or less screeched as quietly as he could and John's hands let go of his shirt.

“Yes.”

The other man seemed awfully composed right then. His face was terrifyingly calm and his posture horrifyingly stable. Paul was becoming a Big Mess of Internal Chaos.

“A-A-ANAL,” he repeated and John nodded, looking now a bit more worried than a moment ago. He was throwing anxious glances at his right hand. Why?

“ _Yes_ ,” John almost groaned and Paul felt his body flush with heat.

“I-” he started, but it got too much and he fell off the bed again. He heard John curse, but concentrated more on having an Internal Crisis.

This was his moment. He should tell John now. He should _say_ it, and he had been so ready a long time ago (in the beginning of the month) before any of the Julia shit happened! He had been ready! He was not now! Not! Ready! NOOOOOOOOOOOO

John dragged him back up on the bed, sat him down and placed his hands on top of Paul's shoulders. He looked deeply into Paul's eyes, now definitely a worried expression on his _handsome_ face.

(Paul's brain was getting rotten by that utter rough beauty that John casually presented his way in normal everyday situations.)

“Don't fall again,” John said slowly and Paul nodded numbly. He was numb. He couldn't feel. He was out of emotions.

No, not really. hE WAS FALLING INTO A BIG PUDDLE OF WANT AND HE COULDN'T CONTROL HIMSELF.

“I-” he started again and almost fell off, but John's hands kept him in place. He shook himself mentally and groaned aloud. Why was it so _hard_???

He would just have to imagine that he had drank a whole lot of alcohol.

“I'm definitely not maybe, er, I mean I might not object if you- there are always some cases where it's possible to-” he stuttered, and halfway through his sentence John started giggling to himself, trying to hold back laughter. Paul was slightly insulted.

He was quite sure John already knew what Paul thought about this. There was no other explanation for that question.

He sat back on his arse and put on the biggest sulky expression ever. John bit his lip, apparently trying not to crack up.

“Paul, honestly,” he said, his voice wavering, and then the laughter was gone. Paul could only see a bunch of nervous nerves that created a being called John Lennon the Nervous. “If- if you _don't_ , really, I, uh.”

Silence fell and they stared at each other. Paul felt sweat break his skin.

“I wanna try it.”

Silence.

It took Paul a moment to realise that _he_ had been the one to say it. John was staring at him with a shocked expression, and Paul knew that his face looked similar. Huh. He had not waited for that.

“I didn't… wait for that,” John said slowly, looking like all his brain functions had stopped.

“Uh. Nor did I.”

They stared at each other.

John's lips parted, his eyes glancing down at Paul's mouth.

And Ringo burst into their room with a plastic Christmas tree.

“Decorating!!!” he shouted, a joyous expression on his face. George pushed his head from somewhere under the tree, eyeing at them like a shark.

“Did we interrupt anything?” Ringo then asked, blinking at them. Paul and John stared at him. And glanced at each other.

And simultaneously shook their heads.

“Great!!!” Ringo exclaimed and pulled himself, the tree and George from the doorway, cheerfully scurrying towards the living room. George threw a sly and suspicious glance at John and Paul before hurrying after, starting to boast out a Christmas song.

Paul and John looked at each other.

“We’ll talk later,” John said and got up from the bed, looking awkward and nervous. Paul let out a small sigh, feeling like this was starting to resemble a soap opera. It had been Ringo’s entrance that truly showed it.

He hoped that the season finale was drawing close.

***~**~***

They didn’t talk about it that evening. Decorating the tree took ages, with George and Ringo dancing for half of the time with a cheesy Christmas record they had put on. John and George got into an argument whether to put a dildo hanging from one branch (George) or not (John). Creature decided to show that she existed, and caused a momentary chaos amongst the decorations. John knew from experience that no place was high enough to keep the cat at bay, and so in the end they only used a minimal amount of stuff that could be sacrificed to the claws of a suddenly hyperactive Siamese cat.

After the tree was ready, Ringo announced that they needed to clean their rooms. George added that Christmas sex felt much better if the floor was visible, and John and Paul _kind of_ had to agree. The only thing on the way of the cleaning was the Sea of Clothes.

After staring at the pile of clothes for about five, desperate minutes, Paul and John pulled their sleeves up and carefully got to work.

“What if _it_ gets angry?” Paul asked carefully, after spending an awful lot of time in awkward silence that was heavy with unsaid words. John swallowed, the movement of his Adam’s apple visible.

“We’ll just sacrifice George,” he said and Paul nodded, more or less satisfied with the answer.

It would have been a perfect opportunity to talk about everything that was going on. But they continued working in silence, carefully lifting one cloth at a time, eyeing at each one mistrustfully. Paul was surprised to find his long-lost shirt that said: “true 1890s kid”. John let out a bright, joyfully surprised sound when Paul showed it to him, and they grinned at each other warmly.

After that the awkwardness in the room seemed to disappear, and they found themselves joking together as a cloth after another disappeared into the laundry basket.

Huh.

Paul had forgotten the colour of the floor.

According to John’s face, he had as well.

They high-fived after having carried out the last t-shirt that had suspiciously looked like it moved. John had thrown it into the trash bin without a second thought while Paul cheered next to him. The sight of having a clean room was empowering and for a moment they just hopped up and down there, giggling to each other like four-year-olds. George and Ringo came to join them and Creature stepped on the floor with a confused expression. She didn't probably even know anymore what “a floor” was.

***~**~***

Paul wasn’t very sure when to leave his present under the tree, but somehow, they started appearing during one point of the evening. It felt like every time he looked elsewhere new ones materialised from thin air, and the others looked a bit confused as well as the evening progressed.

While John and Ringo were out on the balcony, arguing about “the last cigarette in John’s life”, and George was in the loo either having a wank or a shit (or both) (one after another), Paul saw his moment arriving. He rushed into his room, dug out his secret stash of Christmas presents (or, well, the only one. George and Ringo would still get stickers) and ran back into the living room, pushing John’s present into the small-ish pile. Then he jumped back on the sofa, slouching on it, and looking like he had been there for the whole time. To emphasise this, he took out his phone and started a new game on Temple Run 2.

No one suspected a thing. Except that everyone knew what had happened. But they didn’t suspect a _thing_. Paul was so sneaky.

The evening progressed and John and Ringo continued their argumentation. George had joined them, hands wrapped around Ringo's shoulders as he laughed at his two friends. Paul kept himself inside, feeling his stomach twist into knots as the clock ticked on. John could come in any moment, wanting to talk about- about _anal_. The tension inside Paul increased as minutes passed by and finally he couldn't take it anymore.

He took out his phone and opened his iBooks app. He had to kill time somehow, had to find a way to- to push this whole sex -thing out of his mind.

Oh, would you look at that! How on _earth_ was the warrior fic right there, in front of his eyes, open like it had been read before? Gosh, the things that can happen accidentally! How did this come to pass??

Paul and John, in the fic, were sure taking their time to get to the sex, though. Paul couldn't imagine how it would have felt had he been an actual, dedicated reader. Had he been one, he would be cursing the author at this point.

He clicked on the next chapter, cursing _himself_. Well, if it made the time fly… (seriously, there was no other reason for why he was reading such rubbish at 22 o'clock on Christmas Eve. No other reasons. Seriously.)

_John spotted Paul going towards one of the fires that was flaming up bright in the air, honouring the God of Fire, and he let a small smile widen his lips. Fire inside him grew and he started to walk towards Paul, feeling like the god was in vain to try to call him. The Song was so loud that no one could hear speaking._

_He grabbed Paul's arm, making the man jump, and leaned closer, nodding his head towards a log where his parents were already sitting. Paul tore his eyes away from the fires, looked at John and nodded, before sliding his hand down so that their fingers slotted together perfectly._

_John sat them so that Paul was sitting at the end of the log. He himself sat between Paul and his mother. He nodded at her with eyes that shone with excitement. The Song swirled around them, inviting them, and John let his eyes fall closed for a moment, relishing the soft melody in his ear._

_Everyone was there now. The celebrations could begin._

_John's father stood up and the Song got quieter, people's attention on their leader now. Aelfred had his warpaint on, showing his status. John himself had drawn a few black lines around his face, as had many of the other warriors, honouring their god by dedicating their own skin to him._

_"Tonight, we pray for the God of Fire," John's father raised his voice over the Song and people let out a shout that carried around in the air, rising and going into the fires, making them stronger. They flamed even higher, and John marvelled at the sight, just like every weatherturn._

_"We pray for warmth and safe fires. We **thank** the God of Fire," Aelfred continued, and now John shouted with the others, just a wordless, short shout with full of anticipation, excitement and passion. He was slowly turning into fire, and he knew that his dance tonight would be one to behold._

_When the shout faded away and the roar of the fires was the only thing filling their ears beside the Song, John stood up. He glanced down at Paul and offered his hand._

Paul swallowed. What was John going to do? What was this, right in front of the whole clan? What-

_Paul looked up with wide, hopeful eyes. He had the immense feeling that this was something larger than him, larger than the two of them. He could feel the feeling of Fire crawling up his back, winding its way to his eyes and his lips and a single tendril about his wrist that lifted his hand and put it in John's._

_**Thank you** _ _, Paul wanted to say, wanted to scream, but nothing came out._

_He hoped a squeeze of his hand was enough._

_John pulled Paul up to his feet and turned to face the camp, the curious eyes of the clan that knew **exactly** what was going to happen following them intently. John caught Thom's eyes in his and saw the warrior smile broadly, his expression smug. The man would pay for that later._

“Hopefully not with sex.”

_"I," he started, his voice carrying out just like his father's, "present you my Haemer."_

_People's eyes widened and John turned to look at Paul, smiled at him reassuringly. From this moment on, Paul would collect either respect or judgement with his actions, but John knew that people would come to respect him._

_Haemer was a word meant for the leader's consort, not only for a bedpartner. Paul did not know the meaning of the word, and probably wouldn't in some time to come, but John had made his decision. He was not going to introduce Paul as a slave, or a captive, but someone who had come into the camp to stay, as an equal. John didn't know whether he and Paul would ever make it to the point where they could call each other more than each other's bedpartners, but making it look so in the eyes of the others would do only good._

_"He is my Haemer," he repeated and looked around the familiar faces, his friends, his family, his home. And now Paul was one of them. "From now on he is part of the clan, and shall so stay till the day the gods welcome him."_

Paul pressed a hand to his mouth. _No_. Wow. That had been- that had been rather unexpected. To announce it like that in front of- _wow_.

He wanted to fall from the sofa, screeching and flailing. He couldn't believe that this was finally happening!! John was- Paul was not his slave anymore, but his- his _consort_???

 _'It's like marriage!!!'_ his thoughts were screaming and he almost squealed at the phone. Marriage??? John and Paul???

He paused for a moment and swallowed. Now _there_ was a thought he didn't want to even _think_ about.

_John pressed his lips together for a moment and saw from the corner of his eyes his father nod faintly, just so that John would notice it. He let a smile light up his face._

_"This is my Haemer, and his name is Paul."_

_With those final, sealing words he sat back down, pulling Paul down on the log with him, hoping that he had not caused overall damage in Paul's spirit by exposing him to everyone like that._

***~**~***

The tension that filled the night was horrendous. Paul was not sure whether he slept a wink or if it was just him lying motionlessly, hoping that at least John wouldn’t realise that he was still awake.

The other man had no qualms about sleeping. He was out of the world as soon as he hit the bed, and Paul guessed that the lad must have had quite a nerve-wrecking day. It brought at least some level of relief, knowing that they both –apparently- wanted to- to have- have _sEX_ -

Paul turned on his side, clutching at the cover with both hands. Jesus. The thought of finally getting to do it- it was almost too much. A small nagging fear in the back of his mind also said that it might be painful, with Paul more or less having neglected the... _plug_. He would have to return it to George after a thorough wash.

A hand sneaked around his waist and John snuggled up to him unconsciously, apparently in a lighter state of sleep now. Paul let himself be pulled into a cuddle. John would have never admitted it, at least not in front of anyone else but his best friends, that he was a cuddler. A hell of a cuddler. Sometimes Paul wondered whether he had chosen to date a man or a sloth, with the amount of draping himself on Paul that John did on daily basis.

He ended up lying on his back, with John snuggled up to his side. He sighed deeply, turning his head, and smelled the scent of John’s hair.

However things ended up between them after the… sex, Paul couldn't see it as a bad thing. In the best-case scenario, they would a find a brand new way to be with each other. In the worst scenario, they'd avoid each other's eyes for a week and then return to normality.

At least that's what Paul hoped. He couldn't be sure whether John would want to be with him if the sex was bad. Paul himself had to admit that the feeling of getting to- to _thrust_ himself _into_ someone was something that he missed slightly. What if, after getting a taste of it, John realised how much he wanted it, and since Paul was out of his league, he'd start… _wandering_.

But it wasn't just about that, right?? John had _chosen_ Paul, over Cynthia, over anyone else, and he was _Paul's_ , and he just- he just couldn't leave Paul because one aspect of sex wasn't working for them? _Right???_ If John left Paul-

God. He didn't even want to _think_ about those words. He probably wouldn't even be able to go on.

He just _had_ to trust that no matter what came out of this, John wouldn't leave him. The man loved him! There was no reason to carry this fear.

Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice reminded that John had loved Cynthia once, too.

And was that fact the reason why Paul was so damn _afraid_ of changing anything in their relationship?

The morning was a blessed thing for someone who had basically stayed up the whole night.

With a groan, Paul pulled himself out of the bed, carefully over John, almost jumping straight to the door before feeling the floor under his feet. Wow. The Sea of Clothes had been dried out.

The second thing he registered was a paper hanging from the door. It had certainly not been there in the evening, and Paul got confused. How had it ended up there?

He rose to his feet, cautious and ready to tear off anything that George had somehow managed to sneak in, but as he got closer and blinked away the bleariness of his eyes, he saw what it said.

_MERRY CRIMBLE!!!_

Paul had to laugh at that. The paper was decorated with drawings of Christmas trees and presents, and a vague shape that might have been a bell. Paul was happy that George had not attempted to draw an angel. That might resulted as a catastrophe.

Yeah. It was Christmas.

Something in his stomach cleared away and all the fears disappeared. It was _Christmas_.

He turned excitedly on his heels and bounced on top of John in a matter of seconds. John let out a loud “oof” and a groan right afterwards, which disappeared fast as he realised who had attacked him.

“Merry Christmas!!” Paul almost yelled excitedly, and John started laughing.

“You couldn’t have waited half an hour more?”

“Nah,” Paul grinned, and never mind the sex part, this was Christmas and he _was_ going to spend it with his _boyfriend_.

That in mind he leant down and pressed his mouth against John’s, supporting his palms on both sides of John’s head. John was still chuckling, and even though his morning breath was quite an experience, Paul could handle it. He was used to it, after all.

“Merry Christmas,” John grinned at him as they parted, and Paul flashed him a shining smile.

“Also, remember the feeling when you get up from the bed and your feet touch the floor? I didn’t,” he said cheerfully and John’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Let’s enjoy it while it lasts!” he started scrambling off the bed, Paul almost pushing him out of it. They laughed their way out of the room, through the loo, and found themselves from the kitchen. Creature was sitting on top of the table, in the process of cleaning herself.

“You reckon Geo and Rings are still sleeping?” Paul asked as he started putting the kettle on. John shrugged.

“Probably having a Christmas fuck.” He paused and frowned. “Well. At least the first one of them.”

Paul pointed at the tea bags in the cupboard and John looked troubled for a moment.

“Vanilla,” he then said and Paul took the said tea bag. No matter how expensive it was, or how expensive tea was for people who did not have that much money, it was still a necessity. If Paul in his life had always money for tea and the newspaper, he would die happy.

They were just starting to drink the tea when George burst into the kitchen, his face flushed in a happy glow. For once his eyes weren’t glinting manically and there seemed to be genuine happiness in his expression.

He grabbed Paul by the head and pulled him into a deep kiss.

“Hey! Whoa! _GEORGE_!!!” John yelled right at that moment, pushing himself out of his seat. Paul had to give him credit for his fast reaction; he himself was totally frozen in place. As far as he could remember, George had kept his... _mouth_ to himself for at least three years.

“ _GEORGE-”_ John started again, his hand going forward to take a hold of George and drag him away from Paul, but then George broke the kiss, his face glowing.

“Me’n Ringo are datin’!” he almost yelled, let go of Paul and jumped up and down.

Wait. What.

Paul stared at the younger man with his mouth hanging open, John wearing a similar expression. George was _giddy_. He seemed more joyful than what Paul had ever seen him (including that time when the local sex shop had put up a sale and George had bought every. Bloody. Sort. Of. Everything) and the glow on his face was that of _happiness_.

Oh.

George jumped up to John and threw his hands around the man, squeezing the life out of him before skipping out of the kitchen, calling Ringo’s name with a voice that seemed to burst with either lust or love. It was one of the two, for sure.

Paul and John turned their heads slowly to look at each other, both catching their breaths.

John raised his eyebrows and Paul’s eyes started widening.

“Geo- George!!!” he yelled then, jumping up on his feet and running out of the kitchen. George had stopped into the hallway, looking back at him with the largest grin on his lips.

Paul let out a laugh and grabbed the lad into a bear hug.

“Congrats! _Congrats!!”_ he more or less shouted, and George clutched at him, laughing aloud. John came to their side and patted George on the shoulder wordlessly, still looking a bit flabbergasted with the turn of the events. Paul could hear him call for Ringo a bit farther away in the flat.

When he got back into the kitchen, a smile still on his face, he understood what had been going on;

There was a mistletoe hanging right above his seat.

He sighed and shook his head. Probably only so that George could have made his long-time dream come true. He would have to remember to keep an eye on the ceiling, in case there were more of them. He somehow had a feeling that it was so.

The breakfast was warmer than any of the previous ones Paul could remember. George was in a ridiculously good mood, and Ringo laughed at everything that anyone said. John had noticed the mistletoe at halfway finishing his toast, and had come over to Paul to give him a toasty snog. Creature had almost spilled John’s tea mug, and Paul had almost spilled his tea mug when Ringo next to him had calmly placed his own mug on the table before leaning over and kissing Paul, although quite chastely compared to the others.

“Aren’t mistletoes supposed to, I don’t know, work with two people underneath, not just one?” Paul asked when they were cleaning up the table and George had tried to kiss him again. This time John had managed to come in between, but had received an armful of a happy skeleton without being able to escape. He was now running somewhere in the flat, George on his heels.

Ringo shrugged with a smile that seemed to be constant on his lips today.

“I guess that the rules can be bent a little,” he said gleefully, taking the mugs and putting them into the sink. Paul chuckled, shaking his head.

“It certainly seems so,” he muttered, hearing George yell “give us a kiss” from somewhere that sounded suspiciously like George and Ringo’s bedroom.

“Ringo?” he said, putting the butter away into the fridge. Ringo let out a questioning hum. “Congratulations, mate.”

Ringo laughed at that, nodding.

“I figured it was time. I’m not sure if anything is going to change, but at least we can say that we’re going steady.”

“Only took you a year from the last time I asked,” Paul grinned with one side of his mouth. Ringo chuckled, his blue eyes resembling a sparkling ocean at that moment (Paul was surprised with the amount of poetry his thoughts were presenting).

“Well, quite fast compared to your pace in getting to the juicy parts in the relationship.”

“Hey!” Paul called and almost threw a spent tea bag at Ringo, who escaped from the kitchen with a laugh.

Paul sighed and leant on the kitchen counter, closing his eyes.

After Christmas. That was his decision. Tomorrow. _Tomorrow_. And nothing would stop him. Tomorrow he would talk about it, and he would _finally_ get to know how it felt like. He and John would be _one_ , and Paul would have a confirmation that John was there, and the man would not leave him. Tomorrow.

He was feeling a bit shaky already.

***~**~***

John noticed the second mistletoe in the house when he walked right under it and George attacked him. After flailing helplessly against the younger man for some time he managed to get himself into the living room, breathlessly eyeing at the fiendish trap that was hanging right above the doorway. It had been taped with so much duct tape that John suspected it would stay there till the end of the world.

He glanced at the gift pile, and was just about to grab Creature’s bed to go wave it mindlessly about on the balcony, when his phone rang. Praying that it was not Julia he fished it out and glanced at the caller, a smile soon reaching his lips.

“Merry Christmas!” he answered the phone, soon hearing Mary laugh jovially.

“ _Merry Christmas, John,”_ she said voice filled with enthusiasm. “ _I couldn’t reach Paul, but we figured you two would be together.”_

“Yeah, certainly,” John glanced towards the doorway. Paul was trying to cook something for Christmas dinner, Ringo helping him, but he wasn’t sure whether it was going to be edible. “He’s in the kitchen, want me to fetch ’im?”

“ _Sure! How are you doing?”_

John grinned, deciding that Paul could wait for a moment. He threw himself into his armchair, Creature taking her chance and jumping into his lap with a meow.

“I couldn’t be better, at the moment,” he said happily, although a small voice in the back of his said was constantly repeating the word “anal sex”. He hadn’t found out how to shut it out, so for now he just let it repeat the word and tried to ignore it with all his might. “Everything’s going fine.”

“ _How are you feeling about your mother?”_ Mary’s voice was slightly careful. John sighed and shrugged.

“She’s a drag,” he said truthfully. There was no reason for him to lie. “I’d rather not see her again.”

He heard a soft sound that could only be described as sad. So he hurried to say,

“But it’s alright, really! I don’t really need her into my life anymore.”

“ _Listen here, son,”_ Jim’s voice suddenly blasted out and John figured that they had the speaker on. “ _That woman is terrible. You’re better off without wasting your time with her.”_

John nodded and let out an agreeing sound.

“Yeah. I- I know that. I wasn’t planning on keeping any more contact with her than I already have.”

Jim let out a grunt while Mary sighed.

“ _Well, if that's history, then... You and Paul are coming in two days. Do you prefer red wine over white?”_

John laughed at that. Mary was always on the spot where she _had_ to be.

“I like red wine more, but Paul prefers white. I’m content with white though, as well.”

“ _Excellent. You shall get to meet the whole family!”_

“Oh, no,” John said in a small voice and Mary laughed. He even heard a small snort that might have been Jim chuckling to himself.

“ _They all are very eager to meet you. Don’t worry, I haven’t included anyone that would have something harsh to say about you two. I will not have some stupid, mindless opinions ruin our first Christmas together.”_

“You two are wonderful people,” John commented honestly, a smile on his lips. He wished that they could have gone over to Liverpool for this day as well, but Ringo’s parents were abroad during the whole holiday, and he would have had to spend the Christmas more or less alone, as George’s house would have exploded with one more person in there. John had heard rumours that some of the guests had to sleep in the car, but he was not sure about the truthfulness of those comments. It was, anyway, much easier for the four of them if they went to Liverpool just after Christmas.

“ _ **You**_ _are a wonderful person,”_ Mary said in a bright voice, but John could hear that she was happy with John’s words. His smile widened.

“Why, thank you,” he chuckled and heard Mary do the same. “Okay, I’ll take you to Paul now. I have to clean Creature’s bed.”

“ _Right! Merry Christmas again and we’ll see in two days, then!”_

“Yeah,” John smiled, warmth pooling in his chest. “I can hardly wait for all the food.”

Mary laughed and promised that there would be a feast waiting for them. John couldn’t _wait_.

Especially when he saw the catastrophe in the kitchen half a minute later.

***~**~***

The doorbell rang at 17 o’clock and Paul looked around. George and Ringo had disappeared into their room at some point, and Paul really didn’t want to go in there. He figured it would be a bit like being around newlyweds for a while, now.

“Can you get it?!” John yelled from the kitchen where he was desperately trying to save the dinner. Paul dragged himself rather quickly to the door, already with a pretty good hunch of who might be behind it.

He met Stuart’s blue eyes when the door opened and felt horror sweep into his body, even though he had been aware of this possibility.

“Hi Paul!” Stuart called, rather overly cheerfully in Paul’s opinion. Oh, God. What had he said? _What had he done???_ What on earth had made him think that talking to Stuart was a good idea???

“Hi,” he said, if not a bit stiffly, forcing a smile on his face. Then he turned his head towards the other person on the door, standing a bit behind John’s co-worker.

She was a delicate-looking young woman with short, blonde hair. Paul’s eyes widened.

“Ooooh,” he said and sounded immediately cheered up. “You must be Astrid!”

“Yes,” Stuart’s _girlfriend_ (it sounded so odd. Paul had got so used to everyone being at least half-queer) said, sounding a bit shy. “Nice to meet you, er, John...?”

“Oh no, I’m his boyfriend, Paul,” Paul flashed a large smile and felt proudness surge in his chest at his words, just like always. There was something so great in being able to say that _he_ was John’s _boyfriend_. Not just best friend, but _better_.

Astrid’s eyes widened and then a small smile touched her lips.

“Ah, Paul! Yes, I’ve heard about you.”

Paul glared at Stuart, who seemed to be in such Christmas spirits that Paul’s murderous, suspicious eyes couldn’t even reach him.

“It’s a pleasure,” Paul turned back to Astrid with a grin, offering his hand. Astrid shook it, flashing him a sweet smile.

“Hey! Is it Stu and Astrid??” John’s voice came from behind and he appeared right next to Paul, wiping his hands into a kitchen towel. “Great! The food is _almost_ ready, but there was an accident that contains words cat, meat and grapes, and I’m not sure if you wanna hear about it.”

“I’m more than interested,” Stuart commented lightly, giving out his hand to shake John’s amicably. “This is Astrid.”

“I figured,” John grinned and offered his hand towards Astrid. “I’m John. ’S great to meet you, at last. Stuart only ever talks about you.”

Astrid blushed, Stuart not far behind either. Paul snickered and John glanced at him with a small grin.

“Come in,” John beckoned and Astrid and Stuart hurried themselves in. Stuart gave Paul a plastic bag with wrapped presents inside. Paul ooh-ed with excitement and skipped immediately into the living room to go put them under the tree.

It had certainly been a good idea to invite Stuart and Astrid over for the dinner. Paul had a feeling that they would have a great time together, and maybe their guests would make George behave a bit better than he usually did. Or then he would start suggesting a threesome right away. Paul certainly hoped not.

“Paul!” John called from the kitchen and he put the presents quickly under the tree before rushing over to the kitchen.

“Can you go fetch George and Ringo?” John asked, looking like a housewife from the 50’s with his apron that had ugly flowers on it. Paul had once got it from Jane and had donated it to John without regrets. John loved it.

“Uh, I guess,” he grimaced and John chuckled, turning back to Astrid, resuming a discussion about airplane mechanisms that fascinated John A Lot. Why did they talk about it? Paul had no idea. Why did Astrid want to talk about it? Paul had no idea. He was glad that John finally got to talk about it with someone, as the man had been aching to do it for _months_.

He stopped in front of George and Ringo's door and carefully, _really carefully_ , knocked on it.

It was suspiciously quiet before the door opened and George’s dishevelled hair came into his view.

“Yeah?” George asked, a wolfish grin on his face. Paul didn’t want to know what the... glistening... stuff was on his chin. He _didn’t wanna know_.

“Er,” he started, hesitating. Maybe it was better to celebrate Christmas without George and Ringo. They were such bad influence after all. There was no way anyone could get nice presents from Santa if George was around. They were immediately all classified under the Naughty Children category, just from looking at George on daily basis.

“Stuart and Astrid are here,” he said, thankful that he couldn’t see into the room, or what state Ringo was in right now. He didn’t want to know _at all_. “And we were thinking of starting the dinner. So if you wanna join...”

“Of course we’ll come,” George grinned. “Gi’us five minutes,” he looked overly cheerful. Paul shuddered inwardly and nodded slowly, edging himself away from the door.

“ _Five minutes is more than enough,”_ he heard Ringo’s joyful voice and decided right there and then that joining the others in the kitchen would be an excellent idea. If he was far enough, he wouldn't hear a thing.

***~**~***

Paul was starting to get comfortably drunk as the evening progressed. He was in a state where he could call himself tipsy, but not utterly bladdered. He didn’t want to drink too much, because his plans for tomorrow didn’t include recovering from a hangover. So he, with a determined mindset, kept his drinking pace well below the average. The average being Ringo, who seemingly had no problems in drinking himself right into tomorrow.

The dinner had gone surprisingly well, with the boys finding Astrid very charming and Astrid finding them very funny. They talked a lot about Germany, comparing the Christmas traditions. It was all _very_ interesting, but the quality of the discussion started going down by the time they were half way down in the second wine bottle. Stuart had insisted of not drinking anything so that at least one of them was sober. Paul pitied him slightly as all the others were giggling over the word “discombobulated”, Astrid quickly tuning into their sense of humour.

Well, at least Stuart might keep his word of not drinking this time.

At 19 o’clock they finally decided that they had waited enough and gathered around the tree. Paul placed himself on the floor, sitting with his back against the armchair that John had claimed as his own. George and Ringo were on the sofa with the most lovesick expressions on their faces as they eyed at each other. Paul almost cheered for his OTP.

Astrid and Stuart were on the sofa as well, looking comfortable and cosy. Paul was glad that they were feeling good in the presence of George. Not everyone could. But then again, George had -so far- shown a rather quiet and sweet version of himself, almost carrying on a civil conversation with Stuart and Astrid. Astrid looked like she wasn't doubting anything, and Stuart looked slightly suspicious. He didn't trust George either, then.

Paul kept a careful eye on his present for John, hoping that it was enough. Or that John liked the colour. Was green too daring? Although, with his orange jumper on right now, John probably didn’t care about that.

...What if he didn’t like the patterns in the shirt?

Nah, that was a minor thing. John would probably be fine with them. Paul worried in vain.

...What if the material was too itchy?

Paul was getting nervous.

George had put on some cheesy Christmas music that all of them hated, but because everyone _always_ hated some part of what the other had chosen, it was better to go with something that _everyone_ hated. At least with George’s logic.

By the time they got to _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ , John had drunk one beer faster than necessary to get himself so drunk that he would not care about the music, Paul had given up his will to live and George and Ringo had such dazed looks on their faces that their brains must have melted away at some point. Somehow Astrid didn't seem at all fazed, humming along with the song, and Stuart just looked downright happy to be with his girlfriend.

They decided to open the presents in a silent, mutual agreement where Paul was the only one to be part of the agreeing parties. He just couldn’t wait anymore.

Deciding to work as a Santa, he leant forward and took the first present that he could reach.

“I’m just going to give them around,” he said and glanced at the name in the card. It was for George.

“George, you go first,” he grinned and tossed the package over to George. He reached for the next one and like that got easily all the presents to their respected owners.

And then chaos erupted.

Papers were thrown all over the living room as they started tearing the presents open. Loud laughter and yelling followed, delighted sounds filling the space. Creature let out a loud meow and went away chasing a piece of red gift paper, making them laugh.

Paul watched as John pulled out a green jumper and a slow, gratified smile started widening on his lips.

“It's _perfect_!” he said as he spread the shirt, looking at it with bright eyes. His gaze met Paul's and Paul grinned up at him, a knot in his stomach opening.

John put the jumper aside and leant forward, reaching out towards him. Paul rose up to his knees and John pulled him into a soft kiss.

“Thanks, love,” he grinned as they pulled apart and Paul could feel happiness radiating from the man.

A few moments later they were in the middle of a full snogging session, as John's present book for Paul was lying on the floor, unwrapped.

“Okay, okay, I'll get a photo,” George appeared from a large pile of gift wraps, everyone having dumped their own on him at some point. He grabbed his phone and snapped a few quick photos, and for once Paul didn’t mind.

Nah. He climbed into John’s lap and decided that he could as well rest there for the rest of the night.

“Paul,” Stuart called him an hour later after Paul and John had got stuck on exploring Ringo’s present for John: A Sonic the Hedgehog game that used to come with McDonald’s Happy Meal in 2003. (Paul had got a different one from the same year -they hadn’t had the time to touch that yet.)

“Yyyeah?” Paul asked rather slowly, not lifting his eyes away from the game. They hadn’t managed to beat it yet, a fact that mostly caused depression to John and an inferiority complex to Paul.

“You haven’t opened my present yet.”

“In a moment,” Paul said slowly as the game got faster, his thumbs hitting the left and the right button. John was outright tense next to him, following Paul’s attempt.

“Come on,” John hissed, “come _on_ , you can do it, _DON’T-”_

“Ah, bollocks!!!” Paul let out a frustrated noise as he hit the cars he was supposed to avoid, and died. “How difficult can this be?!”

“At least,” Ringo chuckled from the sofa, going through the My Little Pony -stickers, “it’s a gift that will apparently keep you _very_ entertained for some time.”

“I’m honestly not sure whether I prefer these stickers over John’s LP,” George looked between the two with a troubled expression. John started laughing.

“Isn’t the thought the most important?” he asked with a grin and George glared at him before glancing at Astrid. She was smiling happily, leaning into Stuart and gazing at him.

Making sure that she didn’t see, George gave John the finger before flipping the LP over (once again), looking torn between looking at the badly photoshopped cover of Jesus, or at the song list that was not much better.

“Okay, Stuart’s present… it’s somewhere here, I’m sure,” Paul muttered to himself as he dove down into the gift wrap sea,

...

...

(THE GIFT WRAP SEA!!!!!! rejoiced the chorus)

and came up a moment later with a soft, rather big present.

He raised his eyebrows at Stuart, who stared back at him almost challengingly. Paul was slightly afraid right then and there.

He tore the papers away and looked confused.

“It’s a pillow?” he asked and looked up to Stuart, who looked amused more than anything.

“Well, you _did_ seem to have some sort of a connection it,” he answered and Paul’s eyes widened in understanding before he threw his head back and laughed.

No one else got it, but Paul was very happy. And besides, it was a very nice pillow indeed.

***~**~***

Stuart and Astrid left not very soon after, wanting to have time for themselves as well (George’s eyebrows twitched funnily when he heard that). The goodbyes were warm and Stuart promised that they would come visit some other time again before Astrid left. While she was saying goodbyes to Paul, Stuart pulled John a bit further away from the others and leant to speak into his ear.

“Get yourselves into _bed_ , for God’s sake,” he more or less hissed and John raised his eyebrows. He had fortunately (almost) forgot the subject during the day, but now with Stuart glaring at him it felt rather difficult to just put it behind. Also; it seemed that Paul had truly spilled everything to John's co-worker. John tried not to feel slightly put-out at being the last one to hear about the fact that his _boyfriend_ wanted to- well, have sex with him.

“He said-” he swallowed and lowered his voice, nervousness pouring from him, “-that he _wants_ to try it.”

Stuart looked surprised, and then relief passed over his expression.

“Good. Good. That way I can forget everything that Paul told me.”

John looked at him suspiciously and Stuart laughed lightly, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Jeff won’t be able to contain himself,” he said, if not a bit awkwardly, and John felt his cheeks get hotter with the thought. Not with the one that Jeff would be unbearable, but mainly because- well, he would have to, basically… have anal sex with Paul to have that happening.

’ _Maybe I’ll just never do it,’_ he thought secretly to himself as they waved at the door, George supporting Ringo, whose legs were almost giving over.

The door closed and the four of them turned to look at each other with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Presents!!” George yelled then, starting to drag Ringo back towards the living room.

“I thought we opened them all?” John asked Paul, who had suddenly paled.

“I don’t remember getting anything from George.”

“Ah,” John said and wished he had drunk a few more beers. Paul nodded, looking blank.

They stared at each other and then, hand in hand, made their way into the living room.

George was standing in the middle of it, a small gift in his hand and a mad grin on his face. John almost screamed and ran away, but Paul pulled him into the room before he could properly execute his perfect escape plan (through a window).

“Merry Crimble!” George said with the most cheerful voice ever, “this is for both of ye. I thought it’d come to _good_ use.”

Paul took the present and glanced at John with wide eyes. The packet was too small to be a dildo, John was sure of that. It could be a… a butt plug, or some other… kind of thing, but- honestly, one never knew with George.

George took Ringo by the arm and they disappeared from the room, and Ringo muttered drunkenly something about “wonderfful Cwishhmash shex” before their door was closed.

Paul swallowed visibly and slowly, ever so slowly, opened the gift wrap.

A small, white plastic bottle fell into his palm and they stared at it in silence.

Slowly the words in it started to make sense.

“’ _Discover’…_ A- a _gel lubricant_???” John took a deep breath. Paul looked like he was on the verge of a hysterical panic attack.

The younger man lifted his white face and stared at John with a stiff expression that showed every bit how nervous he was.

“It’s- it’s _lube_ ,” he wheezed and John quickly snitched the bottle from Paul, afraid for his boyfriend’s health if he was to keep this foul thing in his hands for more time. George had _touched_ this bottle. It could be nothing but _bad_.

He brought it to his eye level and squinted at it, trying to read the small print without his glasses. He heard a sigh from Paul and then something was pushed on his nose, the world suddenly becoming much clearer.

“Thanks,” he said, not knowing where Paul had pulled his glasses from that fast. The lad had a habit of doing it. John suspected at least some magic was at work there.

“Ingredients... Water, propylene glycol, hydroxyeth... _ethy_ cellulose, benzoic acid, sodium hydroxide-”

“Doesn’t make any sense to me,” Paul pouted and frowned. John swallowed.

“Well, it’s based on water, so it washes off easily.”

“And how do you know?” Paul raised an eyebrow. John coughed.

“Er, I did some research a while ago.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell as John eyed at the bottle, feeling like it could jump into life any moment and kill both of them, drowning them on its thick, water-based essence.

Paul looked inside the gift wrap and groaned.

“There are condoms as well,” he let out a moan that John wasn’t sure was entirely out of horror. “And a-”

He fished out a small piece of yellow paper and looked at it like it would bite him any moment. John shuffled closer to read it with Paul, so no one would have to recite it out loud.

_Dear lads, this is from me n Ringo. Hope you’ll like it. Good for beginners. Odourless and long-lasting. Works with everything, condoms, dildos, etc. Have fun!! George xxx_

Paul lowered the paper and looked at John, a strange expression on his face. It looked like a mixture of gratefulness and inner screaming.

John supposed it was quite a touching gift. This way they wouldn’t have to risk taking a _wrong_ kind of lube. George, probably, knew _exactly_ what kind of a lube was best for them two. And this way they would not have to face a sex shop to _buy_ one. John was quite sure he wouldn’t be able to face the shopkeeper.

He squeezed the bottle into his palm and they stared at each other.

“Not tonight,” Paul blurted, his eyes widening quickly. “Not- I mean-”

“Yeah,” John sighed with relief, nodding several times in a row. “Not tonight.”

They looked at each other and the heaviness in the air almost made John wish that they could have done it now. Mainly because now he would have to feel this tension overnight as well. And how were they ever going to approach the whole thing???

With all that they had gone through, the sex was  _better be good_ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. yes. you know guys i can't _spoil_ anything, but i think it's fair to tell that....... well. the sex comes in the next chapter. yes. you heard me right. besides *sobbing* is that the only thing you care about? what about the sEA?????????? it has been brutally destroyed
> 
> also, in case you didn't get it, the ringo/paul is a joke. this fic is still john/paul. it's VERY strongly john/paul. xx
> 
> you can also contact me on my [tumblr](www.chut-je-dors.tumblr.com).
> 
> things are rather busy at the moment, mainly with _**[THE MCLENNON BIG BANG. COME AND JOIN!!](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/portfolio/mclennon-bb-2017/)**_ You have still time to sign up as a writer or as an artist, and there is a challenge for the readers too!
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_


	14. George Is Here To Have A Good Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? (And me too, even tho there are HUGE errors that I just can't spot)(I guess???) We do. She'll do the work as soon as she can, but for now this is UN-BETAED!!!!!!! (!!! the chorus shouted!!)
> 
> Also, the fics that appear inside this fic are non-existing. They don't exist. Copyrights: me & becca
> 
> Well, who would've thought that we finally get here? Here you have a 9k chapter that is 80% sex. We've all been waiting long enough. This chapter is dedicated to [imaginebeatles](imaginebeatles.tumblr.com) because really, it was her who gave me the guts to finish this up so quickly. Thanks mate eternally <333

Who would’ve thought that the day after Christmas would be this difficult?

John woke up with a strange kind of tension in his stomach. As he lay there, trying to sense how hangover he exactly was, he identified the tension as a boner.

 _'Well, shit,_ _’_ was his first thought, as yesterday's happenings rushed into his mind. Of all the mornings to be horny, this was _not_ a good one!

He rolled on his side, opened his eyes and stared right into Paul’s calm, unconscious face.

His stomach jolted and he cursed himself. Yes, he was aware that he found Paul really, _really_ desirable. He didn ’t need his _dick_ to remind him at such a time!!

He took in Paul’s long eyelashes that cast a light shadow under his closed eyelids, watched how his nostrils moved with his breathing and how his mouth had fallen slightly open, a small glistering amount of spit hanging from the side of it..

He wondered how he had ever found any woman possibly more beautiful than this view. (The spit aside,) Paul was quite a sight. His dark hair contrasted with his light skin and John had a huge want to reach over and touch it, to see whether it was only his imagination or was it truly as smooth as it seemed.

Well. Of course it was. He still wanted to touch Paul’s face.

He didn’t. He got up. He pulled on the new jumper Paul had got him, even though it should have been washed first. He would mind that a bit later; for now he just wanted to try it on, and it fit _perfectly_. He hummed contently and smiled fondly towards Paul, who still hadn’t moved at all. Now there was a light snore in the air, giving a sign that the lad was not going to wake up in a while.

John accidentally glanced at George’s _present_ that was not-so-innocently on the bedside table, and suddenly he became aware of the boner again and rushed into the bathroom. A shower would do, and even though John hated doing this without Paul, he wasn ’t sure if the first thing he wanted to say to the young man this morning was “oh, by the way, would you help me get rid of this dick? Thanks”. _Especially_ this morning.

He stepped under the stream of water and let it hit his face, his head falling back. He felt like he was standing in deep mud that somehow made him horny as hell.

They were going to do it. _Today_.

John wasn’t sure whether he was more terrified or excited. Well, his partner down south was definitely excited, but John tried to ignore that.

It had been different with the blowjob. If something had gone wrong there, it would have been easier to just not mention it and go on with their lives. This was _big_ . This was basically –oh God- burying one ’s dick _into_ another ’s, well… _down there_ , and even though with girls it was quite a norm (with George as well)... This was _huge_.

John was glad neither of them was really that big in size. Otherwise it might have been just too hard to even think about doing this.

He was still determined that he would be the one to take it in. They hadn’t talked about _that_ yet, but John was quite sure that _Paul In No Ways Wanted It That Way_ (the theme song of John ’s life). John was more than willing to do anything that Paul wanted –and he certainly hoped that he would enjoy it as well. That they _both_ would.

He stepped out of the shower just as the door opened and Paul appeared with the most marvellous bed-head of all time, looking bleary-eyed and like he slightly regretted his last beer of the previous evening.

They both froze and stared at each other.

Paul’s eyes fell down on John’s crotch area.

Sweat was breaking into John’s back.

“Uh,” Paul said, and then just stepped away from the door and closed it, disappearing behind it. John, his heart beating like mad, got back inside the shower, slumping against the wall.

Wow. Who would’ve thought that the day would be _this_ difficult?

***~**~***

They stepped into the kitchen almost at the same time, glancing at each other with blank expressions. At that moment something collided with them from behind and George’s cheerful voice reached their ears.

“Did ye ’ave sex yet???”

“Nah,” Ringo said from the kitchen, blinking at them, a tea mug in his hand, ”not yet. You can see it from their faces.”

“Oh, right,” George untangled himself from Paul and John, who immediately bolted away from each other as well, Paul’s face red and John feeling gravely like a dying man. They were going to die.

“Remember to use the condoms, though. You haven’t been tested,” George said, trying to look like he wasn’t bursting, but he in fact was bursting. John let out a small groan and glanced automatically towards Paul, in the hopes of finding a similarly suffering expression like usually.

Instead of that, Paul was staring at the ground with his arms crossed over his chest, his ears red and his eyes slightly clouded. He was biting his lower lip and John’s gaze was almost immediately drawn to the small glistening of spit on it.

He swallowed and became aware that his stomach was starting to turn into knots _again_.

 _'Shit,_ _’_ was the only thing he could think of at that moment, and hurried over to the table to sit down and hopefully forget _everything_ about … well, _everything_.

How had he become so aware of all the different aspects of Paul's appearance overnight? Everything, from the way that Paul's fringe curved slightly, to the soft features of his face, made John shake, both internally and externally. He couldn't help but sneak glances at the man, the breakfast feeling dry in his throat as his eyes kept on returning to Paul.

How could the knowledge of having sex today change Paul from a normally utterly handsome man into this stunning, otherworld creature?

John somehow felt that he was falling in love all over again. And even though there might have been happiness over the fact that this gorgeous person was, this time, _his_ already, it was overpowered by the mad desire in John's stomach.

 _He wanted Paul so much_.

He barely made it through the breakfast and rushed into the loo afterwards, trying to desperately calm himself. He had no idea when he and Paul would be doing _it_ , but this tension and anticipation in the air was making him mad. His head was spinning as he rested it against the cool tile wall, wondering whether he’d ever make it to the h-hour, or would he die with blue balls before that.

Unknowingly to him, Paul was currently tearing a napkin into a hundred pieces in the kitchen, slowly dissolving into madness with a slightly uncomfortable pressure in his trousers and a need that was currently bigger than any he had experienced before.

“Why is it so hard?” he asked in a whisper. George and Ringo both snorted a laugh.

“Why are _you_ so hard,” Ringo asked with raised eyebrows, eyeing at Paul’s lap with a meaningful expression. Paul let out a Creature-like hiss with an open mouth and stuffed both of his fists between his legs, trying to hide his crotch area. George licked his lips in a wicked way.

“Do ye think doin’ it in will be _hard_?” he asked in a sweet voice that was oozing with satanic powers. Paul shuddered, looking away. He wasn’t sure whether talking about this with George and Ringo was good at all.

“Waiting for it sure _is_ hard,” Ringo said cheerfully and sipped at his tea, last night’s drinking not affecting him at all, it seemed. He was always unconscious for the longest of time, but when he woke up nothing ever suggested that he had been drinking. Not like Paul, who apparently went around drinking dish water.

“Please, guys, this is-” Paul stopped, almost having said ”hard enough without you two butting in”, but he realised that that would make the situation even more… _hard_.

“Man,” George then sighed, leaning back and looking completely satisfied. “I’m jus’ _achin_ _’_ for fish fingers.”

“You greatly _desired_ them yesterday morning as well,” Ringo said. Paul jerked, closing his eyes and trying to imagine that he was not there. Or that his brain wasn’t projecting some perfect drawings of him and John fucking hotly into his mind.

“Yeah, I could _explode_ with _want_ -”

“ _Fuck_ you _both_!!” Paul hissed, pushed himself up from the chair and immediately regretted it as George’s cheerful eyes turned down to his crotch area. Paul’s face flushed right away, but he didn’t let the redness of his cheeks bother his frown. He looked from George to Ringo, who were now both staring at the tent in his trousers.

“My eyes- are up _here_ ,” he almost yelled with frustration and then marched off, rushing out of the kitchen, into the living room and then on the balcony, laughter accompanying him all the way there.

There was still no snow, and the temperature constantly stayed over 0°C. Still, being on the balcony without his winter clothes was freezing. Maybe it would help his bloody _erection_ go down.

Truth to be told, he couldn’t wait.

He almost contemplated of jumping off the balcony so that he just would not have to deal with this kind of problems anymore, but he was well aware that John probably would not have liked that. The man would die with a severe case of blue balls for sure.

Unknowingly to him, that was already happening in the loo. John’s actions had evolved into hitting his head against the wall, trying his best to not think of the drawings, or how _good_ Paul felt when he rubbed his arse against John ’s dick, _or_ how truly evil George was.

Unfortunately, he only managed to close two of these things away at the same time, and so one of them was constantly playing in his head, sending sinful signals towards his willy-nilly, saying “Hello, I guess you want to have sex. We all want sex. Every cell in this body wants sex. Wake up, friend, there will be SEX”. John was feeling miserable. And horny.

‘ _13 o’clock,’_ he thought to himself, glancing at his wristwatch, ‘ _before that I won_ _’t do_ _ **anything**_ _. After that I_ _’ll just let go.’_

That meant still three hours in full agony. Oh, dear Jesus. How was he ever going to make it through this day alive??

***~**~***

“ _How do you feel?”_

 _John_ _’s words took a moment to register in Paul’s sluggish mind. He parted his lips to give a response, a shaky breath leaving his lips._

“ _I-I...” He trailed off weakly, almost dizzy. “It's h-hot-”_

“ _Ah,” John whispered against Paul’s ear. There was a wet feeling against Paul’s earlobe and he whimpered as the warrior flicked his tongue against it again. “How I've waited for this.”_

 _John shifted, his body lowering, and Paul could feel heat radiating through the man_ _’s trousers. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and there were shivers wracking his frame, strange feelings taking him over and dropping him suddenly._

“ _Wh-what is that? What are you doing?” he asked, his voice tight. John let out a tiny moan, his whole body vibrating above Paul’s._

“ _I am,” he hissed through a small gasp before licking the side of Paul’s throat, the young man emitting a strangled sound, arching his head away in vain, “showing what it means to be_ _ **mine**_ _, because_ _ **isn**_ _ **’t that what you've wanted**_ _?_ _”_

 _John_ _’s lips pressed against Paul’s skin and his whole weight fell on top of Paul. He let out a loud groan that was muffled by Paul’s skin._

 _Paul moaned. He didn_ _’t expect to, and he chocked it off quickly, but there had been no mistaking it. He could hardly think. John’s lips were on his skin, John’s hips pressed down against him and made an absolutely intoxicating feeling in his abdomen. Paul didn’t understand what was happening, but even the grip John had on his wrists felt nigh on pleasurable._

_He felt like he was thrumming with energy, pliable and utterly acquiesced. He kept his eyes shut as his hips rolled up on instinct to press harder against John, without a single thought. Paul found himself doing that damned moaning again before he spoke without thinking._

“ _Yes...”_

“ _What was that?” John asked in a breathless voice. He rolled his hips against Paul’s and Paul moaned_ _ **again**_ _as an unnamed, sinful tension and something that could only be described as painfully pleasurable went through his body. John let out a groan and his hands pressed Paul_ _’s wrists deeper against the bed, but Paul could barely care anymore._

“ _P-Paul,” John gasped against his ear, his body radiating heat. “I am- going to make you a promise,” his lips met Paul’s ear, speaking straight into it, his voice husky but quiet, thundering with something that Paul could not place._

“ _ **I will make you want this**_ _,_ _” John hissed through clenched teeth, and pain burst out from Paul’s shoulder as the warrior bit down to it, his hips never ceasing their movements, the ever-growing tension in Paul’s stomach almost nearing painfulness. He needed- he_ _ **needed**_ _something, and he- he-_

“ _ **Yes**_ _,_ _” he keened, blood roaring in his ears, and he needed a_ _ **release**_ _._

Paul was frozen to death. Almost. The only part of him that was still alive was his cock that overly cheerfully jumped at every fucking word there was in this fic.

Shit. Paul was so hard he could have broken walls with his dick.

He had ended up reading anyway, because he didn’t know what else to do. The time had dragged forward painfully slowly, and Paul didn’t know what time was good for losing his virginity to John. (Why did everyone think he bottomed anyway? Why was that such a common theme? Okay, he was bottoming _this time_ , but _next time_ he sure as hell would _not_.)

(Unless it was really good.)

He sighed and returned to the fic. At first he had started reading some of them as a way of killing time, because apparently time just swept past with a good fic. Then he had returned to this fic, had been hooked again, and here he was. Frozen.

The balcony door opened and he lifted his glazed eyes to look at John, who was staring at him with the most puzzled, if not a slightly flushed expression.

“I’m not even sure if I should ask what is going on,” the man said, sounding a bit uncomfortable. Paul became Very Aware Of His Erection. AAAAAAAAAHHH

“Hahah, nothing,” he said nonchalantly, his inner screaming fortunately not making it into the outside world. John was no fooled so easily, though, by the way his lips pressed together and his brow furrowed slightly.

“What were you reading?” he asked almost like he didn’t care at all. Paul knew better; John _REALLY_ wanted to know.

“Er, nothing,” he said in a fake cheerful voice and stood up. John’s eyes fell down to his midsection.

Paul realised his mistake.

He was almost sure John could hear his terrified inner screaming just by looking at his terrified face. Had looked up to it.

“I was just gonna tell that it’s afternoon,” John said quietly, and ever-so-slowly he licked his lips. Paul almost shattered there and then, a small, nearly desperate whimper escaping his mouth. John’s eyes snapped up to his face and they stared at each other.

Paul couldn’t have cut the tension even with a chain saw.

“I thought-” John swallowed, glancing behind him, “-George and Ringo seem to be occupied, so...”

Paul shifted on his feet, and John’s eyes met his again-

-And then John was pressing Paul against the glass that separated the balcony and the living room, kissing him with all the passion of a man who had waited to do it for a _long time_. Paul gasped and wrapped one arm around John’s neck, his other hand pulling the man closer from his shirt. In this situation, Paul told his screaming mind, it was probably just better to go with the flow and do what he wanted.

And _hell_ , he wanted to have that _glorious_ Christmas sex George was always talking about. And he _was_ going to get it. _Because John wanted it too._ Evidently, as John pushed a leg between his and rubbed it against Paul’s crotch. Paul groaned, almost stopping the kissing, but John was there to catch him.

Well. There to drag him into the bedroom.

Paul knew they would have to do it slowly and take their time. Ooookay. He knew that. But that didn’t stop him from slamming the door closed and turning towards John with wild, burning eyes.

“You got- everything?” he asked, still breathless from the kiss. John nodded, looking like he was barely keeping himself standing. Paul nodded as well, a small bundle of nerves in his stomach, but he ordered it to go away. Nervous sex was the worst sex in the world. Although the blowjob had been excellent, but, well. John had managed to push his nervousness aside there. If he had feared for the whole time of doing something wrong, it probably wouldn’t have been that good.

“Okay,” he said, shaking himself. “ _Okay_. How’re we gonna-”

He stopped. He would have to kill his virginal feelings right away, _right now_ , and say what he _wanted_ . How could- how could John ever know what was going through Paul ’s mind if he didn’t _talk_ about it?

(Some part of him was contemplating of still jumping from the balcony, because it was so embarrassing to come to this conclusion after dating for over a year.)

“You’re- you’re topping,” he blurted out before he had any chance to think about this new way of living he was going to try. (“Be Truthful To Your Boyfriend™”.)

John’s expression was well worth it.

“ _What_??” he asked, rather loudly, looking absolutely dumbfounded. Paul swallowed, straightened his back and nodded. There was a painful rock between his legs and he was _constantly aware of it_.

“ _Paul-”_ John started, seemingly about to start an essay why Paul Should Probably Not Do It, But Let John Suffer Instead, but Paul looked at him with a frustrated frown. John shut up.

“I wanna- I said, I wanna _try_ ,” Paul breathed and John looked slightly uncomfortable. “Besides,” he continued, a bit sourly, “you already know how to- how to go on with it. Easier that way. Less stress.”

John frowned.

“Are you _still_ pissed at me because of... _George_?”

“I might be,” Paul grimaced. “But you have a chance to pay for your sins right now.”

They stared at each other for a while and then started simultaneously laughing, their sense of humour taking over the nerves momentarily.

“I think I’m going to hell in any case,” John laughed openly, and reached out his hands. ”C’mon. I wanna do this today.”

Paul snickered, walked forward and let himself fall into John’s familiar, safe arms, without nothing holding him back anymore. Except that he was really, really nervous.

Maybe he could compensate that by being extra horny as well.

***~**~***

“You might wanna get comfortable,” Ringo said cheerfully as he offered a sofa pillow towards George.

“Thanks, love,” George said with an equally happy tone and pushed the pillow under him. Then he resumed his position on the left side of John and Paul’s bedroom door, resting his head comfortably against the wall. The spy camera videos didn’t have any sound, and George would watch those later. Now they were here just to listen.

“You got popcorn?” Ringo asked casually, sat on the other side of the door with a pillow as well, and George offered him the bowl. “Have they started yet?”

“I think they’re ’bout to go at it,” George grinned, but then his face became a bit more serious.

“I really hope they remember everything.”

Ringo chuckled.

“In case they don’t, one of us can always shout ’the _lube_ _’_ through the door.”

George laughed quietly but stopped when there was one particularly loud moan. It was probably John.

“I hope their awkwardness doesn’t overtake the heat,” he sighed and Ringo pushed a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“I bet they’ll make it to the end,” he winked and George pouted.

“That’s not fair! Of course they will!” he huffed. ”I bet John, at some point, will swear upon the name of our lord and saviour.”

“Queen Elisabeth II?”

They both covered their mouths to stop themselves from laughing out loud.

“Cor, I hope not,” Ringo snickered through his fingers and George snatched the popcorn back.

If they weren’t going to get it done by the evening, George was personally going to _show_ them how it was _done_ , and Paul and John would just have to roll with it. So it was for _everyone_ _’s_ good if they did it now. Except for George ’s, who would’ve enjoyed a personal demonstration a _lot_. Well, one couldn’t always have everything.

***~**~***

John was really fucking bloody nervous, thank you very much. He was so nervous that he feared they would not get anything done today, seeing as all the blood from his cock was currently circulating inside his heart. Paul was gorgeous in his hands, looking surprisingly confident, his face flushed and eyelids heavy. And here was John, back to a nervous bundle of a fidgeting teenager.

Well, since the last time he had did this he had _been_ a teenager, he kind of felt justified to have raging emotions.

He had no idea how to approach this. He had no idea whether the sex would be good or not, and would Paul go all the way to the very end with him. Apparently this was something the younger man had yearned for some time, according to the way his breathing was getting heavier and heavier and hands more eager as the kissing continued without much of a pause.

Hell, John didn’t even know whether he should try to take an upper hand, or let Paul guide him? Or try to be equal and??? John didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. He was so nervous.

“I hope you- realise that I’m- nervous as- hell,” he muttered between sucking his way into Paul's mouth and Paul hummed in a way that told he understood, but was too busy snogging John to actually form any words. John swallowed, collected half of his nerves, and deepened the kiss.

At Paul moaning he pulled back slightly, running his hands down Paul’s sides, looking at the man’s body. Paul was slim and there was no extra fat on him, but he was not a complete stick like George. That was something John had _always_ loved about the other man.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered before starting to pull Paul’s shirt up in an order to reveal the pale skin underneath. Paul’s face became slightly redder, and the gaze in his eyes slightly madder.

“I-” he started and opened his mouth a few times before huffing. “I can never think proper comebacks after having kissed you,” he said in a sulky voice and John laughed, tossing Paul’s shirt on the floor as the first drop to the new Sea. (Maybe they would stop it from going _that_ far this time.)

“I proudly hold onto my accomplishments,” he said cheerfully and leaned down to lap at Paul’s exposed shoulder. Paul sighed contently, letting his head fall back while his fingers tangled in John’s hair. John slid his hands down to rest them just above Paul's trouser line, slipping two or three fingers under it.

The groan that came out from Paul surprised even him. Paul started shuddering, pressing John's head harder against his skin. John had a fleeting, amused thought of his superior fingers.

Wait. Could that have been- could _all_ of this been just Paul having such _strong_ fantasies about _anal sex_??

John gasped in a breath and, without a second thought, fell down to his knees. Paul let out a shaky, desperate noise, looking down at him like he couldn't comprehend what was happening. John wasn't sure _he_ could, as he started working Paul's trousers down.

“Let's hope my fingers are less almighty now,” he grinned as he pulled Paul's underwear down, facing his (Very™) erect dick.

John would have never thought that this sight could make him _want_ to actually lean in and give the longest lick to the member in front of him, but against all the odds, that's what had happened. He let out a hum as he traced the slow fingers up and down Paul’s erection, making the man let out a sob-like sound.

“I haven’t even done anything!” John laughed, his stomach twisting at the sound and the sight. Paul shook his head, and John assumed that not even he could tell what was truly happening in their bodies.

He knew he couldn’t be very thorough with his mouth, not with the _goal_ of the evening being that they would both come _after_ _anal sex_ (W o w.), but he let himself nuzzle the slightly wet head in front of him for a while longer than what was really necessary. Paul’s fingers entwined into his hair, urging him on, and he slipped Paul inside his mouth.

He had yet to come accustomed to the sounds that Paul made while John would get his mouth on him. They seemed something so different from their usual sex; it felt like Paul was constantly in danger of falling over the edge, and John could never anticipate the moment that Paul would, well, burst up. Accidents with Paul giving John an original face paint were not rare, to say at least.

He swirled his tongue, his fingers still tracing the base of Paul’s cock. The touch was loving, but then again so was everything that John did to Paul. He could not touch his boyfriend without a certain adoration behind it. It was the same for Paul; his hand in John’s hair was enough proof.

“You’re just gonna- make me come-” Paul gasped after a while, which made John chuckle, which in turn made Paul moan. John let Paul out from his mouth with a plop and grinned up at the man.

“Isn’t that usually the goal?” he asked, and Paul shook his head feverishly, looking like he couldn’t stay in his skin. His cheeks were glowing and eyes held a wanton, dark look that made John’s stomach curl in an overly pleasant way.

“No,” Paul said, his voice almost whiny. “I want you _in_.”

“ _Shit_ ,” John groaned, and couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed himself up and engulfed Paul’s mouth with his own, hands grabbing at Paul’s head. He wanted- Paul _wanted_ -

“Get these off,” he muttered and kicked at Paul’s trousers that were pooling at the lad’s feet. Paul snorted, but he looked slightly nervous beneath the amusement.

John knew that feeling _so_ well.

Watching Paul strip from his trousers while knowing what was to come was just painful. John could barely keep his hand off his dick, having thrown his own clothes as far away as possible, as he sat on the bed and looked at the curve of Paul’s back, and the _bigger_ curve of his arse. Oh, Jesus, the man didn’t have a flawed spot in him.

John had to admit that he didn’t find the aspect of fucking up into that arse unpleasant at all.

“You still up to it?” Paul asked, his voice now a bit shaky as he kicked his trousers away and walked closer to the bed. He sat down next to John before the man had time to say anything.

“Of course,” John said, almost breathless. He lifted an arm and brought it around Paul’s shoulders, a small comfortable moment shared between them before the… _rest_ would happen. “I might be many things, but I’m not someone to back down,” he said in a macho man voice and Paul snorted, somehow the voice calming down John’s stomach a bit.

“Besides,” John grinned afterwards, leaning closer as his eyes flicked down towards Paul’s lips, ”you’re in the queer land with me.”

“Haah,” Paul exhaled, his eyes following John’s mouth as his eyelids started falling closed. John could feel the man's breath touching his own, and he closed the gap between them with a feeling that made his toes curl.

He pushed Paul down on the bed slowly, never stopping the kiss. He sucked Paul’s lower lip into his mouth, tilting his head as Paul groaned and pulled him closer. Their movements started becoming more frantic; Paul was all about leaving finger marks over John’s waist by now.

John climbed on top of Paul, starting to reach out for Paul’s dick when his hand was slapped away.

“Don’t you dare,” Paul hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m so-”

“Close?” John asked, and swallowed when Paul nodded. He so wished that this would be good for Paul, because nothing felt worse than being let down from an approaching orgasm. Especially if the betraying thing was John’s dick up his arse.

He looked up and stared at the lube on the bedside table.

Paul looked as well.

And pushed John away. And fetched the lube.

And he pressed it into John’s hands with such a trust-filled, raw expression that John felt close to crying.

“Are you _sure_?” he asked with a small voice, and Paul grinned, if not a bit shakily, before just lying down in the middle of the bed, stretching his naked body in a way that just _had_ John looking at him.

“I’m almost falling off the balcony soon, so get on with it before I get to that point,” Paul then said, and John couldn’t help but laugh. Nervously, though.

“I can’t believe that you’re the pushing force behind this,” he said, his voice shaking in the end. Paul looked slightly uncomfortable and muttered “it’s a new policy”. John would try to remember to ask later what the man meant.

He leaned closer and kissed Paul again, trailing kisses along his face. He let his right hand ghost over Paul’s skin, moving it ever-so-slowly towards Paul’s lower body. Paul’s hands wrapped around his neck, clutching him closer in silent anticipation that was all but silent. Paul’s breathing was getting heavier every passing second, and John’s breathing was getting more and more difficult as Paul’s hold tightened during those seconds.

John pulled away from Paul’s lips to see what he was doing. The lube in his hand was in a rather small, white container that brought a sun cream bottle into John’s mind. He popped the lid off and peered at the bottle.

“You’re supposed to pump,” Paul said, breathlessly. John blinked several times, his sight a bit hazy.

“I guess?” he raised an eyebrow and Paul broke into nervous giggling.

John brought his right hand under the nozzle and squeezed it down with his left index finger. The slick and colourless substance poured over his fingers, cool and not sticky at all, and his brain seemed to hit a dead stop.

They were really doing this.

He lifted his eyes and stared at Paul, who looked back at him with almost a terrified expression. But then he shifted, and started lifting his legs.

Oh, _Jesus_.

John felt his cheeks burning, a feeling that was mirrored by Paul. But they didn’t divert their eyes, nor did they show any signs of possibly backing off. John put the lube on the bed, making sure that he would later get it quickly when there was a need, and moved to settle between Paul’s legs.

“I can’t believe it’s taken so long to get at this point,” Paul almost huffed, and John chuckled.

“If possible, I’d like to savour the moment,” he shot back and the smile on Paul’s face told John that the two of them were going to be okay, no matter what the outcome of this… experiment was. If it was an utter failure, well. Then they would just not do it again. There was no way their relationship would be ruined because of this. John had loved Paul before anal sex, and he would continue to do so. He was pretty sure that Paul felt the same way.

They were just stubborn like that.

He rubbed his fingers together, the lube spreading properly into them. His throat felt dry and he swallowed a couple of times, his hand starting to approach Paul’s lower body.

“Are you-” he breathed, suddenly afraid to speak loudly, “are you _completely_ sure?”

“ _YES.”_ Paul almost yelled at him, his legs twitching. John startled, before he started nodding fervently. Right. _Right_. Well.

He guessed that then it was just-

His lubed fingers touched the skin just beside Paul’s hole, and Paul moaned, his head falling back against the bed. His skin was flushed and John could feel hotness radiating from it, even though Paul’s arms were covered in goosebumps. Slightly experimentally, heart in his throat, he circled the skin, keeping a keen eye on Paul's body's reactions.

“S-s-stop _teasing_!!” Paul gasped, his body jerking, and John let out a breathy laugh. Okay. _Okay_.

He didn't say a thing; Only leaned up and kissed Paul, and then- he slipped his index finger inside.

Paul's whole body tensed unbelievably tightly for three seconds before he sucked in a breath and relaxed, a frown between his eyebrows. John moved down from his mouth to suck on his neck, just to give Paul something else to concentrate on than a _finger up his arse_ . John had read a lot on the subject of how anal sex actually felt for the receiving opponent; Reviews alternated from “ _I really felt like I needed a shit_ _”_ to “ _It's like oxygen I need to breathe_ _”._

“How does it- feel?” he asked, rising his mouth with a small smack. Paul's eyes were closed and he seemed to be contemplating whether this was actually a good idea or not.

“I- well, I _can't_ really tell yet,” he eventually said, opening one eye to stare at John in a way that Totally Did Not Make John Feel Like His Insides Were Burning In The Sun.

“I just gotta find your spot,” John said and got up onto his knees again, starting to move his finger slightly awkwardly.

Hell, it was _awkward_ . But it was also one of the hottest things John had ever seen in his life, and he could hardly look away. This was Paul. This was _Paul_ -

He added his middle finger into the party, Paul letting out a small, breathy sound. John moved his fingers in and out for a couple of times before pulling them out and adding some more lube. There was no way he would hurt Paul, even when knowing that it _might_ turn pleasurable later.

He did his best to stretch the skin, all the time looking at Paul's expressions. They seemed to change rapidly, something that both fascinated and terrified John. Paul's whole facial range was a mixture of pleasure, discomfort, awkwardness and slight confusion. John leaned forward and, just to give himself something else to do than move his fingers out of the _hottest place one earth_ (his dick was kind of screaming to get in), he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Paul's dick.

“YOU _MOTHERFUCKIN_ '-” Paul started with such force that John jumped, his fingers jerked forward, and at that moment they brushed against a spot of skin that John just _knew_ was the right one. And Paul knew that as well.

“ _JesUS-”_ Paul moaned, his back arching from the bed slightly, his eyes widening, a gasp tearing through his chest. John couldn't help but start laughing, while Paul's moaning continued and started getting louder and louder.

“Technically,” John snickered while moving his slick fingers in a repetitive motion, aiming for Paul's spot with constantly increasing skill now that he knew where it was, ”you found your own spot,” he burst into laughter, Paul joining him breathlessly soon after.

“Y-you have no i-idea- how it f- _feels_ ,” Paul gasped through laughter and moaning, and John almost quipped “no, but I will in a couple of days, hopefully”, but decided to leave it at some other time. They'd see how this went.

“At least we know that I _can_ give you pleasure like this,” he said in a slightly wondering voice, and Paul squirmed on the bed, his forehead covered in droplets of sweat.

“Just make sure to -aim your _dick right_ ,” he groaned and John's stomach jolted, a chuckle escaping his lips.

He added more lube, and then pushed three fingers in.

Paul let out a string of curses, his hips moving as if to take John's fingers _deeper._ John's breath stopped and he bit his lip, suddenly unable to tear his eyes away from the muscles in Paul's upper thighs that spasmed with the movements coming from _inside Paul_.

Paul's hand shot up, grabbing John's free hand, wrapping their fingers together. He was squeezing tightly, his moans getting louder and louder by the minute. Whatever it was that he felt, it had to be pretty damn powerful.

John was _so fucking glad_ . He felt tension leave his body as the realisation hit him: Paul could _totally_ come just from this. There was nothing in the way of John giving Paul pleasure like this.

He didn't know if Paul had come to understand this on his own, and if his sounds were also caused by relief. His hips were now moving rather earnestly, and by their movements, John could see that Paul's lower body was completely relaxed, giving in to the pleasure, moving in waves with the rhythm of John's hand.

“You look so good,” John murmured without being able to stop himself, the words spilling from his lips unintentionally, his dick aching painfully already. Paul threw him a sly smile, his eyelids looking heavy, his eyes not focused on John. John had a feeling that had he said this just a few minutes earlier, awkward giggling and blushing would have happened, but now it just… Paul just _acknowledged_ it as a fact, _knowing_ it was so, and seemed to feel no shame. Which was excellent, because he in no ways should.

“Y-you can- I think- I think it's… it's okay,” Paul then breathed, his thighs shuddering.

John's eyes widened and he hit his fingers in rather harshly, his body reacting out of his control. Paul let out a noisy gasp, his hands flying over his eyes, his whole body going through jerky motions.

“Oops. Sorry...” John trailed off as he pulled his fingers out carefully, the sticky feeling somehow feeling more erotic than disgusting. Paul was catching his breath, his legs having gone tense from John's accidental power strike.

“I swear I saw white,” Paul groaned quietly, rubbing his eyes. John could see the lad was thankful for a small pause in the action, even though they were both getting pretty desperate at this point.

“I'm not sure if that's good or bad,” John smiled, his heartbeat accelerating as he reached for the bottle next to him and squeezed the nozzle, coating his palm with lube. He waited that Paul looked up, and their eyes met.

John shuddered, and Paul nodded, giving his silent approving for what was about to happen, his gaze falling down to John's crotch area.

“The condom!” John suddenly remembered and Paul let out a groan, his head falling back against the bed. John laughed as he crawled over the bed towards the bedside table. He was pretty sure he’d last seen them there- where were they?

“Where did you put them?” he asked and glanced at Paul, his dick twitching at the sight of Paul laying on the bed, exposed, in a very complimenting state.

“My pocket?” Paul frowned and squirmed a little. “Shit, I can’t remember, my mind doesn’t work-”

John reached for Paul’s trousers from the bed, searching through them frantically with one hand, the other still holding the lube, and then a condom fell on the ground.

He snatched it up quickly and tore the packet with his teeth in an expert move. Paul laughed, peering at him, wriggling slightly to make his position more comfortable.

”That’s the first time I’ve seen you do that,” he sounded satisfied for some reason, and John shot him a grin. ”Let me put it on.”

Paul rolled to his side, looking like all he wanted was to sit on John right away, with a condom or not. It didn’t take but five seconds to roll it on, something which reminded John of the fact that they were both two guys who were, after all, experienced in the whole thing, if one didn’t count anal sex. It was a relieving, as well as an amusing thought, knowing that they could trust each other to get their partner feeling good as well.

They settled back into their previous positions, Paul’s breathing quickening again as he looked at John’s lubed hand, almost a hungry expression on his face. John swallowed, stared at the precum leaking from Paul’s member, and took a deep breath.

Hesitantly and slowly, as if this was going to change everything, he lowered his lubed hand to his dick.

It emitted a moan from both of them, Paul watching with blurred eyes. John's hips jerked and he realised, only now, how _damn hard_ he was. One single touch was enough to make him shiver from head to toe, and the cool, wet lube on his skin didn't help one bit.

He didn't let himself get lost on the feeling, though, only spread the substance all over his member, his breathing hardening. He didn't know how much lube was enough, but he would spend the whole bloody bottle if it was necessary. He added more, groaning at the feeling, before looking up.

Their gazes met, and it felt like all the tension between them, everything that had bottled up during their year together, was collected into that moment. John's spine was tense as he moved forward, took a hold of Paul's legs and lifted them, slotting himself between Paul's thighs.

They stared at each other, and Paul swallowed visibly.

“You know,” he started, and John was almost ready to pull back completely, to say that Paul didn't have to do this, when Paul continued, his voice breathless,

“People in porn and things always say stuff like, 'fuck me right into next month', but- I'd- I'd rather you didn't-”

John could've thrown a joke ( and… _what_ things? He suspected it was fanfiction), but instead he just nodded, moving his pelvis closer by a few inches.

“Are you compl…” he started, and Paul's eyes flashed with fire, his earlier urgency back, his words seething with something that sounded like anger, but could have been just pure desperation,

“If you _dare_ to say it-” he hissed. “Just. Get. Fucking- _IN!!_ _”_

John took in a deep breath, positioned himself, and pushed in.

He didn't get very far before Paul inhaled sharply, his body tensing, and John was out in a second. Before Paul had time to say anything, he had flipped the bottle back into his hand and squeezed the lube straight on top of his dick before spreading it all over his aching length.

“It's cute how you care-” Paul started in a voice that sounded more like a gasp, but it was cut off when John slid back in.

And, literally, just slid in. No resistance, nothing. And. _Dear. God._

Paul groaned and John’s body hovered above his, trying to hold himself still.

“Jesus fucking cock-sucking Christ,” he gasped, not able to stop a shiver that started from the bottom of his stomach and washed over him in a wave, his dick squeezed into such tightness that he wasn't sure whether he was seeing properly anymore.

Paul looked like he didn't even _belong_ to this world anymore. Lying there, a small frown on his forehead, his eyes closed and a concentrated expression on his face, he looked like the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. And it was ridiculous, really, that John would think of this only after Paul had effectively wiped away all of John's wants to ever get out of _this place_ , but- Paul was just-

“I don't-” he gritted his teeth, hips bucking slightly forward, Paul forcing his eyes half-open, “-think I can get out.”

Paul chuckled, although it sounded strained.

“How does it feel?” John bit his lip, his eyes almost fluttering shut. The whole feeling he was currently experiencing was almost unbearable, and he would either have to move or pull out soon, or else he would lose his mind.

“Like-” Paul's gaze was blurred as he looked at John, and then a small smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like there was... something in my butt.”

John laughed, and knew that as a permission to start moving. There was relief in his heart for knowing that at least Paul didn’t seem to be in pain.

It shouldn't have surprised him, how easy it was to slide in and out now, with pleasure picking his insides like tiny needles. He and Paul both moaned simultaneously, and John set to the task of finding Paul's prostate. How difficult could it be? With each move he could go deeper as Paul’s body got used to the feeling, and he kept the pace as slow as he could without losing his mind.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on either side of Paul's head. Up close Paul's face was even more fascinating, even though it was apparent that he hadn't yet overcome the uncomfortable feeling of having something so big up his arse.

At John's question, however, he shook his head, looking even slightly thoughtful.

“Only that- the lube is- it's going into the _sheets_ ,” he puffed. John raised his eyebrows and pulled out.

“I drowned myself in it,” he deadpanned, pushing slowly back in, emitting a groan from Paul. When he moved again, it seemed like Paul's hips were starting to follow his movements, just like before. John’s heart jumped at that, feeling like he was close to finding the actual one thing that could make this good for them both.

“You're the one- cleaning- _aaaah_ ,” Paul's words disappeared into a long sound that could only be described as a whine, and John felt him jerk violently. He thrust back against the same spot, and Paul was suddenly clutching him, pulling him closer, letting out incredible sounds. His hands, although the hold was getting weaker by a second, were pulling John down, and John complied gladly. Never stopping the thrusting, never letting go of Paul's spot now that he'd found it, he let himself fall against Paul and they slotted together, perfectly and tightly, just how they were _meant_ to be.

John's mouth pressed against Paul's collarbone, moving faster, and suddenly Paul's moans became just that much louder that they would surely be heard next door. Swiping a tongue alongside Paul's skin, moving slightly upwards so that he could suck on the man's neck, John entwined his left hand fingers with Paul's. Now that he had found the right angle it was easy to keep it up, and somehow he had a feeling that Paul, maybe, wouldn’t mind doing this again.

Paul’s free hand was pressed over his eyes, his expression that of incomprehensible pleasure. His dick was pressed between him and John, and John could feel his lower abdomen get slightly wet from rubbing against Paul. He let out a groan against Paul’s skin, holding onto his hand tighter.

It was not only the feeling in his stomach that made the situation so intense. It was the throbbing of John’s heart as well, and he lifted his head, looking at Paul’s face. He couldn’t understand the amount of love he was feeling. Never mind all of Paul’s quirks, of how it had taken them so long to get here (John was just as guilty). Never mind the way Paul went into hysterics every now and then; in the end it was only amusing. John _loved_ Paul, and he swore to himself, there, looking at Paul giving himself to him, that he would never forget this feeling.

He leaned up and pressed his mouth to Paul’s, Paul’s hand flying up and and fingers pushing into John’s hair to keep his head in place. The kiss was deep and messy, both moaning into each other’s mouths as John continued thrusting in and out. Paul sucked his lips between his own, moving onto mouthing John’s jaw, tugging at his hair, probably not thinking about it much.

John lifted himself up slightly, just so that he could look at Paul again. Their eyes met and their gazes locked into each other, Paul’s fingers moving closer towards John’s neck. They were gasping together, John feeling Paul’s breath on his face, and then Paul’s eyes filled with such love that John was momentarily overwhelmed with it. Was Paul reading the same emotion from his eyes, as well?

“I would marry George for your sake,” he whispered, and Paul laughed, the adoration never leaving his expression.

“I don’t love you _that_ much,” he managed in turn, and John kissed him with a chuckle before it turned into groaning. He could feel his abdomen tightening, informing him of a potential orgasm coming closer and closer.

“ _Paul_ ,” he said in a strangled voice, kissing Paul again and again. They grasped at each other, Paul’s left leg locking around John’s arse, pulling him in deeper, and John’s mind was well on the way of getting destroyed with the amount of brain cells burning at the feeling. He finally let himself go full speed, Paul’s body rocking under him, Paul’s loud moans everywhere around John, Paul’s hands pulling him back into a kiss…

“C’mon, love,” Paul’s voice rippled through the roaring of blood in his ears, “ _c_ _’mon_ , John-”

John reached down, wrapped his fingers around Paul’s dick, tugged three times, and then Paul’s body tightened, his legs pulling John forcefully back in while John was in the middle of pulling out, and he was coming, groaning and writhing, his body shaking uncontrollably under John.

John watched, his heart tightened, and he rolled over the edge, still buried deep within his _bloody favourite person. Fuck._ Paul’s hands held him through his orgasm, and for some reason John could only think of how they felt around him, caring and soothing, as pleasure ripped his body in a shambles. And at the same time his heart felt free, and somehow a huge stone that had been sitting in it, disappeared.

And they had nothing to hide from each other, anymore.

They stilled and stared at each other, John slumping over his elbows, final tremors running through him. Paul didn’t look like he was fully aware of the world around him, his face holding a blissful expression. He smiled hazily at John, who tried to regain his breath.

“That-” he then started, and Paul blinked, trying to focus on him, “That was- the heat of the moment. I wouldn’t marry George. I’d kill him for you, though.”

Paul laughed, pulled John down into a deep, lazy kiss, and everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's your sex. ta-dah. can i go back to the plot now
> 
> also; it wouldn't have felt right to make it overally dirty. sorry about that. this is all about their feelings ;)) cheers. also, excessive background search has been made. the lube they used can be found [here](https://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=31585). george knows his stuff.
> 
> you can also contact me on my [tumblr](https://www.chut-je-dors.tumblr.com).
> 
> things are rather busy at the moment, mainly with _**[THE MCLENNON BIG BANG](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/portfolio/mclennon-bb-2017/)**_. yay
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_


	15. George Is Momentarily Conquered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **UN-BETAED** (still)
> 
> because my [beta's](http://when-winston-met-james.tumblr.com/) life happened. We all still love her anyway, right? also, not a native english speaker writing here. take it or leave it.
> 
> Well. What can I say? This is the final chapter. Feels kinda odd to be posting this, but I'll start working on my BB fic ASAP, so I won't have a chance at resting a bit.
> 
> Because this is the final chapter of part four, and in total there are 198k+ words in this series (?!?! how), I've decided to celebrate it by enhancing your reading experience. You'll notice it when it comes, but I'll tell you beforehand I used [this site](http://ios.foxsash.com/). The earlier parts of the fic have been updated with this as well ;D If you cannot see anything special and feel that some parts are definitely missing (wink wink), make sure you're reading from the proper AO3 site (and not for example from CodexReader on Android) and that you're using a browser that's up to date! (There are picture attachements. Just sayin' in case you're not sure what to look for)
> 
> A big thanks again to [Puck](www.imaginebeatles.tumblr.com), 'cos without her you might've had to wait for this chapter a few days more. thanks hun <33
> 
> **On wit ht he cha tp er!!-- >**

When John pulled out, after a minute of lazy kisses and stupid giggling, he was met with a very familiar sticky feeling that had already been partly forgotten during a year without any penetrative sex. Paul shifted and made a face, the skin around his nose wrinkling adorably.

“Any sore?” John raised an eyebrow. Paul started moving, but stopped right away with a groan.

 _“Jesus,”_ he managed drowsily before collapsing back on the bed. “...You are bringing my dinner here.”

“Fair,” John smiled, pulled off the condom and quickly tied it up into a knot. Paul grinned at him, his eyes drooping.

“D'you think we could just take a nap?” he asked, his voice already getting slurred. John threw the condom into the rubbish can on the other side of the room (his aim had _never_ failed him when it came to condoms) and grinned, feeling giddy. He wasn't sure he could believe what had just happened.

“Sure,” he said and yawned, moving back towards Paul. He slumped down on the bed next to him and started pulling the bed cover from under them.

“Move,” he grumbled and Paul laughed, sounding like he was seconds away from unconsciousness.

“You’re supposed to be romantic,” muttered, managing to lift himself so that John could yank the cover free.

“I’m on the way there,” he said, pulled the blanket over them, and snuggled up to Paul. They looked at each other, smiles on their faces, and Paul leaned forward to press a kiss on top of John’s nose.

John couldn’t remember when he’d last felt this happy.

***~**~***

Paul was feeling absolutely liberated.

It didn’t matter that his butt was aching slightly. It didn’t matter that he was sticky from sweat, or that his arsehole felt slick and oddly empty. It didn’t matter that it felt like tomorrow’s four-hour drive to Liverpool would be hell. _Nothing mattered_.

Because John. Had. Fucked. Him. Right. Into. Next. Week.

He didn’t even know what to think as he lay there on his stomach, listening to John’s even breathing, looking at the man’s sleeping face. His dreams had finally come true. And John had proved to be every bit of a perfect boyfriend. Caring so much for Paul’s pleasure? Ready to sacrifice his own so that Paul would have a chance to enjoy?? Paul wanted to fucking _vomit_ from the feeling he got.

And- and what about the sex?? It had been abso-fucking-lutely _perfect_. Sure, it had felt odd at first, which Paul had anticipated, but there had been no pain. No pain _at all_. Paul felt like gloating about the fact that they had managed to do it right, but he didn’t know to whom he should talk about. He doubted that Stuart wanted a message like _that_. Maybe he could share _this_ with George, and they could squeal about it together.

The longer he lay watching John, the bigger the urge to go into the loo got. He really needed to take a shower (with John, thank you very much), and he really, _really_ needed a shit. Or at least it felt like that. During the actual intercourse the feelings Paul had had been just pure heaven, though, after the beginning. He now knew why anal sex was so praised by some.

So much of it had to do with John being a perfect human being, though.

He tore his gaze away from the said human being with difficulties. He _really_ had to get into the loo, preferably _now_.

He pushed himself up on all fours with a groan, and then with another one crawled over John. It was ridiculously easy to get on the floor with balanced maneuvering, since there were no slippery clothes waiting for him. He knew that John slept like a log most of the time, especially after sex, but he tried to be as quiet as possible anyway. He was such a good, caring boyfriend, he was.

Groaning, moaning, and cursing under his breath, he made it to the door and opened it, pushed his head through the crack, and peered into the hallway.

No George.

He lamented the fact that he had once upon a time chosen the room that was further away from the loo. He couldn’t see into the living room, or around the corner from his spot, and he knew that George could be anywhere. _Anywhere_. He could be waiting in the _loo-_

Paul retreated from the door with a wince. Now that he was up on his feet he could sense the negative aspects of accepting a big thing up his arse. But it had gone so _perfectly_ , and John had been so _loving_ , and _careful_ , and _gentle_ , and-

“Paul?” there was a muffled sound and Paul turned just in time to see John patting the bed next to him, his eyes still closed and a frown between his eyebrows. Paul’s heart filled with something inexplicably strong when John got up on his elbow, his hair sticking into different directions, the bed cover falling down to his waist.

Paul stared at his nipples for a moment before getting closer to the bed.

“Here,” he said and John turned his head into his direction. He cracked one eye open, looking like he was still half-asleep.

“I hope you’re not up to pack your stuff and leave me crying,” the man yawned and Paul laughed, climbing back on the bed carefully.

“Then I’d have to find a new guy to bugger me. Too much bother,” he grinned, biting his lip right afterwards. Yes. It had been that good. He thought that his face would have lit up in flames right away, but the burning feeling never came to his cheeks. Instead it went into his heart when John laughed and sat up, his other eye still closed.

“How do you feel?” John asked then, his tone becoming gentler and more careful. God, Paul loved him. His life was complete. He had caught the most perfect man in the whole bloody world.

“I could use a shower,” he said, slowly sitting on his heels. He made a face at how it felt, and John forced both of his eyes properly open.

“Yeah, same. And a cup of tea.”

“Same.”

Silence fell for a moment before John, seemingly not able to stop himself, leaned closer and kissed Paul softly on the lips. Paul let his eyes fall closed for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling, before he nailed John down with his gaze.

“Now,” he said cheerfully, “the next step is that you lure George away so that I can get into the loo.”

John groaned, pulling back.

“You can’t do this to me,” he said in a whiny voice. Paul snickered.

“You said you’d marry him,” he started, and then was overcome with a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “You’d- you’d marry _George!!_ _”_

“I _also_ said it was the heat of the moment!”

“ _Marry George-_ ”

John huffed and ruffled Paul’s hair, smiling as he crawled out of the bed. The bed cover slipped away from him and his arse came into Paul’s clear view.

Paul let himself admire it while John let out a small moan, stretching himself.

“Okay, so. Getting George out of the way? I know just the trick. Anything for you, sweetiekins.”

“It better not include anything that might make me jealous,” Paul called from the bed as John dragged himself to the door, still butt-naked. Paul loved him.

John turned and winked at him. Paul brought three of his fingers to his lips and then lifted his hand up, Hunger Game -style.

With a laugh, John was out of the room, and Paul followed behind after there had been a joyous scream of “oh, _John_ _”,_ accompanied by Ringo’s laughter.

…Why was there popcorn on the floor?

***~**~***

The next day they drove to Liverpool. Ringo was once again sitting behind the wheel, John having managed to slither away from any responsibilities by claiming that he was still tired from yesterday. George and Ringo, having knowingly had two fucks that morning, had looked at John with raised eyebrows before John had pointed out that George’s dream had come true and he would have wanking material for weeks to come. After Paul had more or less silenced John, and George and Ringo had laughed themselves silly, Paul and John took over the backseat with their new McDonald’s games. George soon fell asleep on the front seat, muttering something about some video quality being extremely good before he was unconscious to the world.

The music in the front was rather loud (children’s music from the 80’s) (Ringo’s life choices were sometimes questionable), and with Ringo humming along and George sleeping, John and Paul found it safe enough to hold a conversation without being eavesdropped. At least too much.

Paul had, during a stop at a gas station, moved to sit in the central seat instead of the one next to the left window, so that he and John were sitting side-by-side. He pulled John’s hand into his, unable to stop touching the man. That was how it had been ever since yesterday; they just couldn’t keep away from each other. Paul was feeling unbelievably calm, and knew exactly what had caused it.

 _Penetrative_ sex with the man he loved the _most._ Now _there_ was a thought he could hold onto.

It was still incomprehensible. Now that the first bliss had worn down, Paul felt like he had entered a new state of nirvana where the sun was shining, cows were flying and George didn’t matter. George Didn’t _Matter_. The only importance in Paul’s life was his wonderful, irreplaceable boyfriend, and he swore to lock this feeling into place. Especially when it made him unable to care about George.

John squeezed his fingers, glancing at him with such a loving gaze that had he been an outsider, Paul would have vomited right there and then. Now he only returned it in kind, before leaning towards John and laying his head on his shoulder.

“How did it feel like?” John asked in a silent voice that wouldn’t be heard over the music. Paul frowned, trying to find words to describe the experience.

“Pretty fucking weird at first,” he said, chewing on his lip. “It got better gradually, and- well. I don’t know. I had a dick in my arse.”

John snorted a laugh.

“I noticed.”

Paul jabbed John gently on the side, not lifting his head even when John squirmed a slightly.

“It didn’t hurt, if that’s what you mean,” he said then, relaxing against John again. “It was a bit uncomfortable at some point, but it wasn’t _pain_.”

“Good,” John sounded satisfied and Paul could identify relief as well. He smiled to himself, feeling how his body was starting to melt into big hearts that all screamed John’s name in perfect harmony.

“And… Seriously, it was probably the best sex I’ve ever had,” Paul said, his thumb tracing small circles over John’s hand. So much of it had to do with the emotional side as well, though. Paul doubted he could ever have this good sex with anyone else.

Well, what can one do? He just loved John so much. It was ridiculous.

“So, you’re not in danger of falling from the balcony anymore?” John hummed with humour bubbling in his voice. Paul raised an eyebrow at the seat in front of him.

“…Depends on how the family dinner goes.”

John groaned rather loudly, earning a glance from Ringo in the rear-view mirror.

“The _family dinner_ ,” he said in an exasperated voice and Paul could see Ringo’s lips turning up. He grinned.

“Wait till you see Grandpa Joe’s New Year’s jacket. I wonder if it’s the pink glittery one this time.”

“Should I be worried?” Paul could hear a smile in John’s voice. Then, a bit more hesitantly, “Do you think they’ll accept us?”

“Of course,” Paul lifted his head, straightened himself and looked at John, and their eyes met. Paul was overcome with a want to have sex right there and then, but he pushed the urge down. God, he was still feeling the _previous_ go at it. He supposed he needed a few days to recover properly from his first time. “Mum wouldn’t let anyone in who talked shit about us.”

“I love her so much,” John sighed. “I’m so glad to have her in my life.”

“Me too,” Paul smiled, moving John’s hand into his lap, and started to play with the man’s fingers. “I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”

“Quite literally, yeah, usually you have no idea what you’re doing,” John said and chuckled right after. Paul shot him a smile. It felt like they were smiling constantly, today. And who wouldn’t? Great sex was _great_.

“She had cancer,” he then said, and John fell silent, looking at him with an expression that was slowly turning into a horrified one. “When I was 14. But she survived and there haven’t been any more signs of it ever since. She gets tested regularly, though.”

“You haven’t told me before,” John said with a slightly raised eyebrow, clearly trying to hide his shock. Paul shrugged.

“It isn’t something I think about. It isn’t important anymore, y’know. Just like I’ve never heard properly about Julia.”

John regarded him silently, and Paul felt slightly bad for bringing Julia up now. Their life was so perfect, and there was no need to think about her. John could forget all about her, now. And Paul had voluntarily brought her up, started to destroy everything they had achieved, ruined John’s good mood, and their relationship would be in ruins, and the neighbours would start complaining about constant screaming, and they would break up and Paul would end up camping on park benches because George would take John’s side because John was better at sex and Paul would just have to leave and John would leave him hateful messages on newspapers and Twitter and Paul would be publicly disgraced and-

“Remind me later,” John said suddenly, and he leaned in to press a kiss against Paul’s ear. Paul shuddered and squeezed John’s fingers more tightly, warmth filling his heart.

“About what?” he looked a bit confused. Wasn’t John supposed to start sulking, like he had did on daily basis at the mention of Julia? Wasn’t he supposed to publicly disgrace Paul right now?

“I’ll tell you about Julia,” John said, and his expression was open, and Paul could- Oh God, Paul could see _right_ into John, and all of his feelings, and-

“You don’t have to, you know,” he swallowed, feeling light in the head. What was this? John giving up information of his past just like this?? Paul’s stomach was doing funny things to him. He guessed that nothing he had imagined before would come to pass, then. Phew.

“Well,” John shrugged. “I guess most of our problems would go away if we just _talked_ about them…” he trailed off, his eyes never leaving Paul’s. Paul opened his mouth, and it was like John would have hit him with a chicken in the head. He certainly felt as intelligent as one at the moment.

“Y-yeah,” he managed after a moment of silence, and John grinned before softly kissing him properly on the mouth.

Paul’s insides were screaming, and his mind had completely left his body, and nothing in this world could make him happier than John right now.

Although, as he would find out in a few days’ time, he was wrong.

***~**~***

“My _boys_!!” Mary almost screamed as she raced down the steps towards the car, her arms already outstretched to grab a death hold of Paul, who looked torn between running towards her or away from her. John sent a small prayer for Paul’s physical health while Mary did her best to squeeze the life out of her son, and got out from the other side of the car. Ringo did as well, leaning on the roof with a smile as he watched Paul squirm in Mary’s hold. George was blinking, yawning, and stretching himself in a cat-like manner, apparently not going to get out of the car.

John’s thoughts momentarily trailed over to Creature. She was with Jeff again, although John was pretty sure that Jeff would be unable to take care of her as New Year arrived. They _would_ have taken Creature with them to Liverpool, but had agreed together that Mary’s designer sofas could be in danger, as well as the famous McCartney Christmas tree. John just had to hope that his beloved cat would be fine, and wouldn’t turn into an alcoholic while he was gone. One never knew what went on in Jeff’s parties.

Jim walked past Mary with a wry but amused expression on his face, and came to John without hesitation. John started offering his hand, but Jim grabbed him into a rough hug, hitting him on the back several times before letting go.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, voice a bit gruff, and John flashed him a smile.

“To you too,” he wished back and made his way to the back of the car, opening the trunk to get out his and Paul’s luggage bags. Paul pulled himself out of Mary’s grasp just in time to come and help him, and then it was John’s turn to be engulfed by Mary’s arms.

“I’m so _glad_ to have you here!” she said, and sounded almost close to tears. John let out a content sigh, feeling warm and welcomed. He still had it hard to believe that there was someone in this world that could love him like a mother. Hooking up with Paul had been the best damn thing he’d ever done in his life, and every part of him agreed. His Gay Dick included.

“I’m so glad to _be_ here,” John choked, not because of emotions, but because of Mary’s killer body lock. He heard Paul laugh to his dad somewhere on his left, and then there was Ringo’s voice.

“Well, if you’re settled here, me’n George will continue to his house, then.”

“Oh,” Mary let go of John, who tried his best not to pant like a dog. “You’re not staying for lunch?”

Ringo shook his head, smiling.

“No, George’s mum is waiting for us. We’ll drop by later, maybe tomorrow or so.”

“Right,” Paul said cheerfully, waving his hand high in the air too excitedly when Ringo got back inside the car. “See you!”

His eyes met John’s, and John knew that they were thinking the exact same thing.

 _No George_.

“Have a nice time with your family!” Mary shouted after them warmly as Ringo started driving away. Paul’s phone let out a ping two seconds later, and he snorted a laugh, showing the received message to John.

_ _

“The Evil has been conquered,” John said with a surge of satisfaction. Paul grinned at him.

“Mum has that power.”

She also, apparently, had the power to carry all their (already) forgotten luggage inside all on her own. John and Paul stared after her for a moment, and Jim stepped up next to them.

“She has been bursting with energy all day long. It is terrible,” he sighed, shaking his head. John and Paul glanced at each other.

“Should we be worried?” John asked carefully, and to his surprise, Jim smirked, looking very satisfied.

“Well, hopefully you lads are hungry. Get in, before she comes to drag you along.”

“I take it that there is a huge amount of food waiting for us,” Paul said, sounding suspicious, but not too entirely unpleased. John grabbed his hand and they started walking towards the house, Jim leading the way.

“That, including two whole turkeys.”

“ _Two_??” Paul raised his voice. “It’s not _Christmas_ anymore!”

“You know her,” Jim smiled, and there was something deeply fond in his voice. John felt blessed to be in the presence of such love. “She just can’t stop when she’s excited.”

“Bless her,” John sighed.

***~**~***

“ _We are not worthy_ ,” John hissed into Paul’s ear a few minutes later when he saw the catering in the dining room. It was enormous. It was delicious-looking. It was _heavenly_. _JOHN WAS NOT WORTHY._

“Shush,” Paul hissed back. “Of course we are.”

“We are two gays who sin even when breathing. _We are not worthy_ ,” John said urgently. Paul shushed him again, pushing him down to sit in a chair.

“ _I_ am perfectly worthy of enjoying the fruits of my father’s hard labour he has completed under the watchful eye of my mother,” he said in a posh voice, just as a young man with wild, dark hair, slightly arched eyebrows and a faintly crooked nose walked in. He was grinning widely, having heard Paul’s last words.

“Mike!” Paul called enthusiastically, let go of John’s shoulders and staggered over to the man.

“Yo, Paul,” Michael McCartney, Paul’s younger brother, waved his hand as a greeting before the two brothers quickly hugged each other. “Y’alright?”

“Just fancy,” Paul shrugged. “Great sex life, unlike _some others_ have-”

“Shut yer cakehole,” Mike grinned and punched him in the arm. “Poof.”

The lad then turned to look at John, who had been wondering whether an apocalypse would occur if Mike and George were to put in the same room. Both of them had the good ole Liddypool accent nailed down.

“Ye survived Mum’s hug!” Mike said, sounding surprised. John laughed and stood up, clasping hands with the younger man.

“Only by a miracle. We didn’t think we’d see you ‘ere,” he raised an eyebrow questioningly, Paul nodding along. John feared that a half an hour with Mike would make _him_ fall into his old accent, and then his reputation as a pure, great boyfriend would be tarnished. There was no way he’d let a _word_ in scouse out of his mouth when Mary was in the same room as him.

Funny how he suddenly _cared_ so much. Mary’s acceptance started to become the most important thing in John’s life, somehow.

“Oh, well,” Mike shrugged. “I couldn’t miss seein’ this family’s first gay dinner, like.”

Paul made a face while John started snickering, although slightly nervously. He knew that there was nothing to worry about, but, well. He was _new_ in the family. He had no idea what the people coming later today would be like, apart from Grandpa Joe’s questionable jacket choices.

“How many have been left out?” Paul asked then as they started moving towards the table. Mary had instructed them to eat something so that they wouldn’t pass out with hunger, and then later in the evening stuff themselves with as much food as possible, so she wouldn’t have to cook during the next few days with no one being hungry.

“Uh,” Mike scratched at his cheek, something that was very McCartney-ish. John smiled to himself. “Maybe five to six people. I know that Uncle Jack’s wife is bein’ a proper wanker about yous two, the others are a mystery. Uncle Jack isn’t comin’, although ‘e agrees that ‘is wife is a bit of a tosser.”

“She’s always been a right wanker with me,” Paul muttered. “Tried to convince Mum and Dad that I could do modelling when I was ten. Wouldn’t hear that _I_ didn’t want it at all.”

“You, modelling?” John started chuckling. “You can’t even walk a straight line.”

“It’s funny how ‘e views ye,” Mike said, a wide grin on his lips, looking at Paul. “I never thought ye to be clumsy, hysteric, _or_ gay, before John came into the picture. Now, o’ course, I know that ‘e’s right.”

“Hey!” Paul threw a napkin over the table, but it landed on top of the salad bowl. Mike looked at it dryly while John was overcome with a powerful giggling fit.

“How come he is a perfect human being and I’m the one getting mocked all the time??” Paul complained and turned to look at John accusingly (like it was _his_ fault that he was perfect). John reached out a hand, curled it over Paul’s neck gently, and leaned over to peck Paul on the lips.

“You _are_ perfect,” he grinned, and when there was no punchline, no real joke, Mike started letting out vomiting sounds while Paul just started smiling wider and wider.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, his tone soft and adoring, and John felt _blessed_ to be in the presence of _such_ love.

 _Bless_ Mary for her perfect food, perfect husband, perfect house, and her _perfect_ son.

***~**~***

When John woke up the next day, it was to the knowledge that he had had _no_ idea what was waiting for him in this family. Paul’s relatives were loud, hilarious, and downright _cruel_ when it came to the new couple. There had been laughter and yelling, playing music and games, and John had found out that somehow, everyone in Paul’s family could at least sing _a bit_. Paul’s skills had never ceased to amaze John; The skills of everyone else in this family would now be added to that list.

His head was pounding in a way that felt like there was someone hitting two plates against each other right in the middle of his brain. He groaned and turned onto his side while trying to remember just _how_ many drinks he had had yesterday. He had a hazy memory of Grandpa Joe and Granny Mac ( _both_ dressed in pink glittery jackets) (and apparently those weren’t their real names? John had no idea) playing a drinking game called something like “How Many Times Do The Sweethearts Smile At Each Other”, and the game consisted of forcing a glass of wine down John’s throat every time he was caught staring at Paul.

By the headache and the taste in his mouth, he guessed that he had stared quite a bit.

The house was quiet as John made his way into the loo. He didn’t know if there were more people than him, Paul, and Mike sleeping over, because he had no memory of the ending of the night. He might have been walked into the bedroom by someone who repeatedly chanted “y’rre a good lad. Ye’re a good gay. Gay lad” into his ear with a heavy Liverpool accent that belonged to someone over 60 years old. That someone hadn’t been sober either, as long as John could recall. He wondered if it had been Grandpa Joe.

He washed his face and brushed his teeth, and then set for looking for painkillers. He and Paul hadn’t brought any, mainly because they hadn’t felt the need. But who would’ve known that Jim’s parents were such… party-people?

He didn’t find any help in the upstairs loo, and so he made his way downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped, hearing sounds from the kitchen. He looked down on himself, at his space rocket briefs and a worn t-shirt that had a teddy bear’s image printed on it, and turned on his heels quickly. As quietly as he could he scrambled back upstairs, and pulled on a pair of loose trousers, accompanied by the green jumper he had got from Paul.

Armed with clothes and mentally almost ready, he felt brave enough to go back downstairs. He stopped to give a kiss to Paul, though, who swatted him away with a frown, mumbling something incomprehensible before turning his back at John. John smiled and left him into his beauty sleep. The lad had certainly deserved it, after everything.

John paused at the kitchen door, and smiled when he saw Mary and Jim there. Jim was cooking something that looked like a potential breakfast, while Mary enjoyed a cup of coffee and read something from her phone.

“John!” Mary’s expression brightened up immediately, and then she was coming forward, giving John a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like dead,” John grinned, and then grimaced. “You wouldn’t happen to have any painkillers anywhere?”

“You certainly had quite an evening,” Mary smiled, looking only amused. “I have paracetamol… Are you allergic?” She was already turning and heading for the bathroom. John followed her after waving a hand at Jim.

“Not that I know,” he said and leaned on the doorway while Mary rummaged through a small cabinet that seemed to contain different kind of medicine. Huh. John and Paul just had it laying around.

Now that John thought about it, he and Paul were the only people who just seemed to have it laying around. Hmm.

Mary gave him a small pill and they got back into the kitchen, where John chucked the medicine down with water. Then he sat down at the table, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“I take it that that’s your new jumper,” Mary eyed at his shirt, and John felt his cheeks get warmer with pure happiness. He nodded, a stupid smile spreading on his face.

“Yeah,” he pulled on a goofy face to cover his sudden need to go back upstairs and give Paul the time of his life under the covers. “I love it.”

“It looks good,” Mary said and glanced at Jim. “Jim, dear, don’t you think?”

Jim looked at John, at his shirt, and then nodded, turning his gaze back on the breakfast. John felt blessed by that nod.

“Thanks,” he said, sipping at the coffee. Usually he detested the substance, but this morning it felt appropriate. Damn Grandpa Joe for making John lose his grasp of reality and of what drinks tasted good.

For a while they sat in silence, and then John looked up at Mary with a slightly hesitating look. Rrrright. He had got rid of the cigarettes, had cut down the ice cream he usually bought, and now it was time for the next step. That being, _tell the parents_. Oh, Christ. It wasn’t like he was asking for Paul’s hand or anything!

“You know… I’ve thought of taking Paul to a holiday next year,” he said, playing with the handle of his cup. Mary looked at him openly and encouragingly, Jim just nodding with a small, gruff sound.

“…To Paris,” John sipped at the coffee, and Mary’s expression changed into a wide smile.

“That is a great idea! And so romantic! Have you thought of the dates? You ought to reserve the tickets early.”

“I know,” John grimaced. “Money is the problem. I wanna do it though, and I’ve been saving discreetly ever since I got the idea.  I wanted to know your opinion about the dates.”

“Well, his birthday is in the middle of summer,” Mary said and glanced at Jim over her shoulder, who looked pondering.

“It’s not in the middle of the touristic season, though,” he said and flipped over an egg that was sizzling on the pan. John had an urge to go throw a paprika into it. Just one. One, whole paprika. It would be fab.

“You’d be okay if I took him away for his birthday?” he asked. “He wasn’t here for his last one, either.”

Mary laughed, shaking her head.

“We don’t mind. We’ve had him for so many birthdays, so it’s quite fairly your turn.”

John smiled and nodded slightly sheepishly, feeling utterly grateful. Mary was the _best_. The _BEST_ -

“Actually,” Mary said, and her eyes lit up with something that resembled George’s “I just got a very bad idea and I _love_ it” -moments. John was sure that Mary’s idea, however, couldn’t be _bad_. Right?? Mary was always right.

“Jim, dear? Remember that discussion we had earlier?”

“Hm?” Jim lifted his face and met Mary’s eyes, and then a small smile spread on his lips.

“Yes, of course.”

Mary _smirked_ , her expression lightening up, and John _really_ hoped he wouldn’t have been hungover for what followed.

***~**~***

The following day, Paul and John were on their way to a pizzeria, where they would meet George and Ringo. Mike was with them as well, hovering behind their backs like an overgrown duckling. John knew that Mike somehow seemed to worship him, seeing as Paul had been complaining about it quite a lot. Ever since meeting John, Mike had been more than willing to visit them every once in a while. Before that, according to Paul, it had taken everything from bribes to threats to get to see him. Well, if it made Mike happy to get stuck with the queer couple… and somehow, he didn’t seem to mind George at all either.

Yesterday had been spent with helping Mary and Jim prepare the house for New Year, which apparently contained of a huge amount of guests, champagne, and food. Mike had almost been swallowed by a pile of Christmas decorations that hadn’t been put up yet. John assumed that after New Year, they would all be required to take it all off while Mary sit on the sofa, drinking tea and giving them instructions. Somehow, he didn’t find the idea unpleasant at all. Hell, he would gladly throw himself under a bus if that made Mary like him more.

He was such an attention-hogger. Paul had started calling him “Mary’s little lamb” at some point, because truthfully, that’s how John was. But he _adored_ her!

They walked through the familiar streets, John finding it odd that while he had spent his childhood around the area, he had never run into Paul. Or maybe they had met, once or twice, but had never talked to each other. John knew that he wouldn’t have been able to miss someone like Paul; He hadn’t been. From the very first moment he had laid his eyes on Paul, he had begun to question his sexuality. Not that he complained, now.

It was only when they passed Mendips when John realised that they had to _actually_ go _past_ it in an order to reach the pizzeria. His fingers were tightly woven into Paul’s, and their entwined hands were both in Paul’s pocket. Now, strangely enough, John had an instinct to tug his hand away from Paul’s.

He squeezed the man’s fingers tighter, and stopped almost without noticing it.

He stared at the house, Paul stepping up to his side.

John just _knew_ that Mimi was alone. And inside.

He looked at Paul, anxious. Paul was biting his lip, holding tightly onto John’s hand, as if afraid that John would indeed pull away. John remembered the last time they had been here.

He wasn’t going to repeat _that._

“C’mon,” he said and started walking, Mike trailing behind them soon enough, looking confused and like he was bursting with questions. “It’ll be her who messages me first.”

Paul looked just a bit sad at that, but nodded.

It was easy to joke about Mimi when they weren’t here, were it all had actually happened. It was easy to not think about how she had hurt John, and still did, by not taking any contact with him. It was not easy remembering Julia’s words about Mimi not even _mentioning_ John.

“My family’s so fucked up,” he groaned and kicked a stone on the street. Paul sighed, bumping his shoulder against John’s gently.

“Well, if you had to have one flaw…” he trailed off, and John chuckled. He knew he could trust Paul.

“Y’know, it’s not me, it’s my family. So personally, I’m perfect,” he grinned, and Paul pulled his hand free from his grasp to wrap it around his shoulders.

“You’re just awful,” he sighed, and John leaned into Paul’s warmth, and relished it.

They had almost arrived at the pizzeria, when a shop seemed to hit John’s eye out of nowhere.

He looked at the jewellery in the window and swallowed; He looked at the _rings_.

Well. Paul would _certainly_ freak out about _that_.

***~**~***

“Pineapple! _PINEAPPLE!!_ _”_ John was trying to yell through Ringo’s hand that was roughly pressed against his mouth. Paul tried not to think of _where_ Ringo had learnt such a… professional touch at keeping people in check like that, but he _knew_ it had something to do with a certain hobby called BDSM. George went on about that enough.

“We’ll take five pizzas, _all_ without pineapple,” George said cheerfully at the waiter, who eyed at the situation with an amused glint in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time they were in this restaurant; It was the first time they were there together, however. They were all familiar with the waiter, or familiar enough that he knew about their preferences.

Paul felt slightly bad at cooperating with George and Ringo in this, but pineapple on pizza just wasn’t acceptable.

“I like pineapple,” Mike muttered, but looked like he didn’t want to be held by Ringo.

The waiter jotted down a note into his writing pad, and then looked up at them, waiting.

“Um,” Paul looked at the menu, glanced at John who was looking at him with such _pleading_ eyes, unable to speak through Ringo’s iron touch. “For me, uh, I’ll take ‘ _La Reine_ ’, and for him-” he pointed at John, who’s gaze had turned into outright desperate, “- _‘Giuseppe’_.”

John let out an audible groan, and the waiter smiled before writing the order down. The others gave theirs as well, and then the waiter left. Ringo let go of John, who slumped over the table with the most depressed posture Paul had seen in some time.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said and patted at John’s hand, “I’m sure it’ll taste _great_.”

“I thought there was something between us,” John said miserably, looking like a dark cloud of Doom had fallen upon him. George looked downright disgusted.

“People like ye disgust me,” he said in a seething voice, looking perfectly satisfied with himself. John sneered at him.

“You fuckin’-” he started, but Ringo’s hand was back on his mouth, and his expression was warning. John stared at him with wide eyes, pushing Ringo’s hand away.

“Mate, I need a safety word,” he said, and it was apparent that he was very, _very_ pissed off. Paul looked around them, and spotted a bathroom at the far end of the restaurant.

“I’m gonna go into the loo,” he said, stroking John’s shoulder while standing up. John threw him a betrayed look, while the others nodded, smiling brightly.

He got up and walked over the floor, catching the waiter’s eye. He glanced behind himself, seeing that George was now trying to lift John’s mood by showing him something from his phone, while Ringo was holding him forcefully. John was struggling for his life, trying not to see whatever there was in the phone screen, and Mike just seemed to be enjoying himself enormously.

Paul sighed and then stepped next to the waiter.

“Could I have pineapple put on one _‘Giuseppe’_ , for our table?” he said, smiling apologetically. “If it’s no bother.”

“Of course not,” the waiter smiled widely. “I’ll tell the kitchen. Also, great blog! My girlfriend loves it.”

“Oh,” Paul swallowed, “cheers?”

The waiter grinned at him, and Paul continued his way into the loo, feeling silently mortified. That man was also probably one of George’s _friends from Tumblr_ , with Paul’s luck.

It was well worth it though, when John’s pizza was brought to the table with a bunch of pineapples on top of it, and John gave him the deepest snog ever. George even forgot to be angry at Paul, because no one was stopping him from filming the kiss.

“Okay, that was disgusting,” Mike said when John and Paul were finally finished, unable to look away from each other. George grinned and muttered something about “Tumblr going to love this”.

“That pineapple is disgusting,” Ringo sighed. “I can smell it from here.”

“No wonder with that nose,” John wriggled his eyebrows meaningfully. Ringo glared at him.

“Want me to stop caring of your wellbeing?” he asked with a slightly threatening tone, John snorted and wrapped an arm around Paul’s shoulders.

“You already did. Paul’s the only one I can really trust.”

“That was my plan all along,” Paul said lightly and got on cutting his pizza into slices. The others followed his example, although Ringo and John never stopped glaring at each other. Mike raised an eyebrow at Paul.

“Is it always like this with you lot?” he asked and Paul huffed a laugh.

“Well, no. Usually there’s more sex included.”

Mike turned to look at his pizza, a confused and wondering expression on his face. Paul saw that it was best not to really explain.

They ate themselves full and laughed themselves silly. After finishing their pizzas, they decided to go into a nearby cafe to get some tea and maybe something sugary to eat as well. On the way there, Paul’s mobile phone let out an alert of an incoming message, and he fished it out from… John’s back-pocket?

John looked as confused as Paul felt, but the feeling was quickly disappearing at seeing the sender’s name.

“Uh, it’s Jane,” he said, tilting his head. “What does she want from me?”

“Open the message,” John shrugged, untangling his hand from Paul’s. Paul grimaced and contemplated on just putting the phone away. Jane could wait.

Although, he knew that she would call him anyway if he didn’t answer soon.

He opened the message and let out a small groan.

_ _

“I forgot to get her a present,” he sighed as an answer to John’s questioning expression. He offered his hand towards the man, who took it, and they continued walking with John leading Paul away from danger as he kept his eyes on the iPhone, texting back with one hand.

Paul had no time to start answering the message, when his phone started ringing. He groaned and leaned his head momentarily on John’s shoulder.

“Damn it, Jane,” he moaned, and brought the phone to his ear.

“Hi,” he sighed, and heard a bright giggle from the other side of the call.

“ _What? I thought you_ _’d be happy to hear my beautiful voice,”_ Jane chirped, some kind of jazz music playing in the background. Paul rolled his eyes.

“When am I? You’re taking away my precious time from talking with _John_.”

John snorted a laugh next to him, and Jane’s voice piped up immediately.

_“He’s with you?? HI JOHN, DARLING!!”_

“Ouch,” Paul hissed and held the phone away from his ear. John laughed out loud and leaned closer to speak into the phone.

“Hi Janey! How you doin’?”

_“I’m fine! Did you have a nice Christmas?”_

John and Paul looked at each other at that, and when the same thought of what had gone on yesterday came up, they smiled. Mike looked at them with a slightly aghast expression, while George and Ringo grinned at each other wolfishly, George looking like he was holding himself back from doing something really bad.

 _“That’s too much silence. Did you guys_ **_finally_ ** _do **it** properly?_ _”_

Paul spluttered, and John burst out into a laugh. He grabbed the phone from Paul, who protested, and brought it to his own ear.

“Whatever business happens behind that bedroom door of ours, it’s 100 per cent only _our_ business,” he said cheerfully, listened to something what Jane said, and then laughed again.

Paul forgot to stay mad with that laugh in the air around him. They walked now with their hands entwined again, and Paul couldn’t keep his eyes away from John.

There was just something in the man that made Paul fall for him over and over again. And the best thing was that there was _nothing_ here stopping him from showing it.

He squeezed John’s hand, who glanced at him, winked with a smirk, and said “well, if you must know, I’ve never had a better lay” into the phone.

Paul swatted him on the arse, but couldn’t help but smile smugly. Mike groaned and dug up his earphones.

***~**~***

They were looking at the fireworks from the McCartneys’ garden, with champagne glasses in their hands, the neighbours, the family, and apparently also a bunch of friends having come over. Inside the house a rather big party was going on, but John and Paul had come out with their jackets on, listening to the noisy celebrating from all over the street. Nearby some people were shooting big fireworks, and the boys watched them in silence. Paul didn’t feel the need to say anything, every now and then taking a sip of his champagne, enjoying John’s warm body that was pressed up against his side.

“It’s been quite a year,” John said a while after a huge explosion had startled them both, making them chuckle. “I mean, who would’ve thought a year ago?”

“We were in front of Big Ben,” Paul muttered with a smile, blinking as another firework went off close. “It was the most damn romantic thing I’ve ever experienced.”

John grinned, looking entirely too satisfied with himself and his kissing skills.

“Are you ready for _Auld Land Syne?_ _”_ he asked, referring to a traditional song people used to sing as the clock struck midnight. Paul shuddered.

“Oh, yes. Dad has had both me and Mike trained for it since birth.”

John laughed and took Paul’s right hand into his left one, his fingers warm despite the slightly chilly night.

“Y’know, last New Year was pretty mind-blowing,” he said, and Paul raised his eyebrows, smiling. Yeah. What could win a New Year’s kiss in front of Big Ben, and specifically, the _first_ New Year’s kiss with _John_.

“So, I’ve been thinking how to top that,” John said with a weird smile that reminded Paul of Ringo whenever the man had to test his height in an amusement park to get into the ride. “And, well.” He coughed and stroked his thumb over Paul’s hand, seemingly lost in thought.

“What d’you think of Paris?” he then said, his voice almost lost into sudden screams of joy from inside the house. Paul ignored his family’s loud ways of celebrating New Year; his whole world was zooming in on John.

“…Paris?” he said, feeling suddenly out of breath. Did John mean-

“I reserved plane tickets earlier today,” John blurted out, not looking at Paul first, but then, after a small silence, turned to face him. Paul felt something big, heavy, and warm starting to rise from the bottom of his stomach.

But- Paris was- it needed _money-_ hold on, _TICKETS???_

“And the thing is,” John continued, and now his lips were stretching into a proper smile, “I told your parents, and they hadn’t been able to decide on a Christmas present yet, and they… Well, they wanted to purchase the tickets for us. So… we did it in the morning before you got up.”

Paul blinked, turning to look at the house. He caught Mary looking at them from a window, and she winked at him, raising her champagne glass. Paul was quite sure it was her third or fourth. Maybe fifth.

He returned his eyes on John, who was watching him, smiling, but looking nervous. The warmth was rising up still, and Paul’s thoughts- they were _disappearing-_ John had- _Mary and Jim had-_

“Oh my God, John,” he said in a breathless voice. “Oh my _God_. You’re taking me to _Paris_.”

“Hrmh,” John swallowed visibly. “I hope it’ll-”

Paul let out a smallish scream and threw himself against John, remembering their glasses only when it was too late. John cursed, but his hands came around Paul’s waist securely and tightly, making it clear that he had had to drop his champagne. Paul’s balance tipped forward with John lifting him slightly up, and his fingers touched skin where Paul’s jacket had rid up.

“I love you _so much_ -” Paul gasped, pulled slightly back, and smashed their mouths together, his fingers pushing into John’s hair to keep his head in place. John laughed breathlessly into his mouth, and then the sky around them filled with fireworks, and people were shouting “Happy New Year”, and singing began.

The clock had struck twelve, and Paul could not care less. John was his _world_.

And his New Year’s promise was to _give John the best bloody year the man could ask for._

Paul and John kissed their way into the new year, and not even George mattered anymore.

 

***~THE END~***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! wow. let me just collect myself and i'll get on writing my BB fic. i have four days to figure out the summary and i ALWAYS do the summary after i've written the fic. so i am in _trubl_
> 
> gotta say that i just fucking LOVE Mary. and Jim. AND GRANDPA JOE.
> 
> also: What do you think of the texts? your feedback is appreciated and if this doesn't work i'll return to the old (BORING) ways.
> 
> you can also contact me on my [tumblr](https://www.chut-je-dors.tumblr.com).
> 
> check out the [JP-Library](https://jplibrary.wordpress.com/)! Are you in need of some steamy McLennon? Long fics? Fluffy fics? Just get on browsing. Everything's in there. _.........it's just disorganised_


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